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NEW YORK: SANFRED & CO. 



Frances: A Stoty 
Foi‘ Men • # # 

* # and Women. 



BY 

FLORENCE FINCH-KELLY. 



FRANCES 


A STORY FOR 


MEN AND WOMEN. 


BY 


FLORENCE FINCH-KELLY. 


V '“ v I 

I SANFRED & COMPANY. 



NEW YORK: 


Copyright, 1889, 

P,y FLORENCE FINCH-KELLY. 

All Rights Reserved. 


ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED 
BY 

The Somerville Journal. 




“ Leave all for love ; 

Yet hear me, yet, 

One word more thy heart behooved, 
One pulse more of firm endeavor, — 
Keep thee to-day, 

To-morrow, forever, 

Free as an Arab 
Of thy beloved. 


“ Cling with life to the maid ; 

But when the surprise, 

First vague shadow of surmise 
Fits across her bosom young 
Of a joy apart from thee, 

Free be she, fancy free ; 

Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem, 
Nor the palest rose she flung 
From her summer diadem. 


“ Though thou loved her as thyself, 
As a self of purer clay, 

Though her parting dims the day, 
Stealing grace from all alive ; 
Heartily know, 

When half-gods go, 

The gods arrive.” 


— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 


FRANCES 


A STOEY FOE MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER I. 

A delayed train puffed and snorted into the Old Colony depot 
in Boston one night late in the winter of 188 : — . It was hours be- 
hind time. It had run into a freight train, and had waited for the 
wreck to be cleared off the track. Then it had crept like a snail 
over miles of quivering track, which trembled upon the rain- 
soaked bed. The nerve-racked passengers, who for hours had 
been tremblingly expecting the train to be dashed at any minute 
down one of those quaking embankments, and who had spent the 
time in grumbling to one another about the delay, and in saying 
sarcastic things about the management of railroads in general, 
were thankful enough now to find themselves at last safe at their 
journey’s end, and they straggled out through the depot to take 
quick shelter from the pouring rain in waiting cabs. Among 
them was a woman whose small frame seemed even smaller than 
it really was in her garments of deep mourning, and under her big, 
floating crape veil. Small and slender though she was, she did 
not seem to notice the weight of the sleeping baby which she car- 
ried, but walked up the long platform with a quick, firm step. 
Her fair hair waved out in a pretty frizz from under her sombre 
bonnet. Her rather pale face looked tired and worn, and her 


6 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


placid brow began to show anxious lines as she turned her eyes 
inquiringly in every direction, and still did not see the person she 
was evidently expecting. “ Perhaps he has gone to sleep in the 
waiting-room,” she said to herself, and hurried in, only to come 
out again with her disappointed look more marked. She stepped 
through the swinging doors, shivering a little as the cold wind, 
laden with rain drops, dashed in her face, and looked hesitatingly 
up and down the rain-washed street, with its puddles of standing 
water and its w r et pavements reflecting the light of the street 
lamps. “ Evidently, he didn’t get my telegram,” she thought, as 
she summoned a waiting cabby, who opened for her the door of 
the last remaining coupe. The driver had swung his whip in the 
air, and the horses were slowly straining to their task, when a well- 
built, well-dressed man came rushing out, the light from within the 
depot resting on his face just long enough to show that he was 
young, dark, and handsome. He looked hastily up and down the 
street, and saw that this was the last carriage. 

“ I say, driver, can’t you put me in there, too ? ” 

“Where to ? ” 

“ Parker’s.” 

“ Madam,” the driver bent his head and spoke through the 
window, “ any objections to my taking this gentleman as far as 
Parker’s?” 

She was busily drawing the wraps closer around the sleeping 
baby, and she hesitated an instant before replying. It would take 
her out of her way and delay her fifteen or twenty minutes, 
and she was tired, sleepy, nervous, and wanted to get home. 
But she heard the rain pattering in the deserted street, remem- 
bered that she had taken the last carriage, and quietly answered, 
“No.” 

She gave no attention to the gentleman as he stepped in, but 
settled herself back in her dark corner, where, in her black wraps, 
she was almost invisible. He turned a quick, curious glance 


FRANCES I A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


7 


toward her, but was able to descry nothing but the pale area of a 
face and the dim, dark outline of a form. Then he leaned back in 
his corner, and his bobbing head soon showed him to be asleep. 
So these two people, silent and unrecognizing, rattled along over 
the cobble-stones, through the rain which poured down in an un- 
slacking torrent, and beat a dismal, monotonous tattoo upon the 
roof and windows of their carriage. And yet it had been less 
than three years since they knew and were interested in each other. 

The woman leaned her head against one hand that grasped 
the hand-loop, and drew a deep breath of relief. How good it 
was to be off that wearisome, nerve-wearing train at last; and 
how nice to be getting home again ! It had been lonely down, 
there, and she had never realized before how much she liked her 
home. Poor papa ! how he had suffered, and how glad she was 
that she had never lost patience with him in all his garrulousness. 
It had been pretty hard sometimes, remembering how they had 
disagreed, and how severe he had been in the past, to be always 
gentle and patient. But there had n’t been a moment during all 
this three months’ sickness, — and she felt a glow of proud satisfac- 
tion as this thought passed through her mind, — when she had been 
anything toward him but a kind, affectionate, tender, and dutiful 
daughter. It was all over now, poor, old papa! and she was going 
home to have a good, long rest. How surprised Harris would be 
to see her, for her telegram surely had not reached him. How 
pleasant it would be to nestle down again in his arms, and be 
caressed and petted. And what a queer story that was she had 
heard about her mother’s sister. Could it be true ? A feeling 
of loathing and disgust made a little shiver run through her frame. 
How dreadful it all was, and how could she have disgraced 
a respectable family in that way ! Why had n’t she gone and 
killed herself ? Ugh ! It made her feel polluted herself, as if some- 
body had daubed her with mud and filth. Should she tell Harris 
about it ? Really, it would be better, though she hated to acknowl- 


8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


edge that there had been such a shameless, dreadful creature in 
her family. But then he might find it out from some other source 
sometime, and then he might think she had purposely concealed 
it from him. She hadn’t known before how much she loved 
Harris. She had never, in all their acquaintance, been so glad 
and so impatient to see him. How slow they were going! Had 
the driver gone to sleep ? She was almost sorry she had let him 
take her that distance out of her way. On the whole, she was 
glad Harris hadn’t received the telegram. It would be so nice to 
surprise him. What a good thing it was for husbands and wives 
to be separated for a little while. It taught them how necessary 
they were to each other’s happiness. Harris would be back from 
the office by this time, for it must be midnight, or later, and he 
would be sitting before the fire reading a chapter of Thackeray 
before going to bed. He would n’t be expecting her at all, and she 
would steal into the room, and put her hands over his eyes, and 
kiss him before he knew she was any nearer than Fall River. 
How happy he would be — and she made a little movement of 
pleased expectation — to have her back again. And would n’t he 
be surprised and pleased when he saw the baby ! Little dear, — 
and one hand lovingly patted the little bundle in her lap, — it had 
grown and improved so in these three months. She was so im- 
patient to have him see how chubby, and rosy, and bright, and 
sweet the little thing was. Still, she hoped he would n’t wake it 
up until morning. Dear me ! how slow that driver was ! Would 
they never get there ? She wanted to get home — 

The man in the opposite comer was awakened by a sudden 
movement and a sharp indrawn breath, that was almost a scream. 
He opened his eyes just in time to see his fellow-traveller bending 
forward and receiving on her face — an amazed, stunned face, 
with wide open eyes and parted lips — the light from a saloon 
door opened just as they were passing. A thrill of recognition 
shot him through. “ By Jove, if that is n’t Eva Langley ! ” He 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


9 


checked his first impulsive thought to speak to her, and, instead, 
shrank back still closer into his dark corner, and pulled his hat 
down over his forehead. He also turned his eyes far around in 
their sockets, trying to discover, without calling attention to him- 
self by showing curiosity, what it was that had so suddenly aroused 
her. But he was too late to see anything, except the general fact 
that it was a coupe slopped before a saloon door. He noticed 
that the woman now sat upright on the seat, and that she held her 
infant, although it still slept soundly, in her arms close against 
her breast, and when he got out, a few moments later, at the 
Parker House door, he heard, as he passed her, the sound of her 
breathing, quick and sharp. He turned his head away, so that 
she might not see his face. But his precaution was unnecessary, 
for she saw neither him nor anything else that was actually before 
her. Her eyes were filled and her mind dazed by what she had 
seen in that coupe standing before the saloon. The just opened 
door had thrown a flood of light full upon it, and within she had 
seen, plain as day, her husband, Harris Collquitt, his face full 
of love, bending over a woman who sat beside him, her hand 
in his, and his arm thrown about her waist. Of that picture she 
had had in passing only the merest glimpse. But, illuminated by 
the bright light and framed by the surrounding darkness, it stood 
out before her with agonizing intensity. If she shut her eyes, she 
saw it. If she looked out of the window into the rain and the night, 
she saw it. If she looked down at her baby, held close against 
her breast, she saw it. But her mind was so numbed and dazed 
that she did not think. She was simply conscious of what she 
had seen, and of a great, deep, absorbing ache, through which, 
now and again, rang the painful thought, “ How happy they 
looked.” 

At last her driver stopped before an apartment hotel on 
Columbus Avenue, and a sleepy-looking janitor let her in. As 
soon as he saw who it was, he bustled about, glad to see her back, 


IO 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


hoping she was well and the baby was well, and telling her how 
tired she looked. As the elevator had stopped running, he carried 
the baby for her up the stairs to her flat. Then, with the hope 
that she’d “ be rested by to-morrow,” and a hearty “good night,” 
he left her. As she entered her dark and silent rooms she felt 
numbly regretful that she had not been able to treat him more 
cordially ; and with the half-conscious thought that to-morrow she 
would tell him what a dreadful journey she had had, and how tired 
she was, she began making a light. The rooms seemed so dark, 
and chill, and empty, and that spectacle seemed to stare out at 
her so vivid and dazzling from every dark corner, that one after 
another she lighted the gas jets, until the little suite was a blaze 
of light. She wandered dismally from one room to another, try- 
ing to banish that scene from her eyes by the sight of all her 
familiar household things. She went to her bedroom, half hoping 
that she might find her husband there asleep, and afraid to open 
the door lest she would confirm the knowledge she already had 
that he was not. Presently there was a sound of opening doors, 
and then the servant peeped in, pushing back her hair, all awry 
about her face, and rubbing her half-open eyes. 

“ Laws, Mrs. Collquitt! I thought that must be you. Just let 
me light that fire for you, and I’ll make a cup of tea for you in a 
minute. You look awful tired, and you must be nearly froze.” 

She bustled about, making her mistress comfortable, and 
chattering away, after the familiar manner of her kind, about all 
that had happened during Mrs. Collquitt’s absence. 

“ But, laws ! Mrs. Collquitt, why didn’t you let me know you 
was coming, and I’d ’a’ had things better prepared, and it would n’t 
’a’ seemed so dismal, like it does to come into a house all dark 
and cold.” 

“I thought I’d give you a surprise,” said the mistress, 
making an effort to smile and conceal her misery from her 
domestic. Then, on the inspiration of the instant, and hardly 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. II 

knowing what she was about to say, she went on, “ and be all 
settled down when Mr. Collquitt gets back.” 

“Yes, mum; I expect him back in a day or two. He said 
when he went away he’d be gone p’raps a week. It was getting 
that lonesome here for him before he left that he could hardly 
stay here a night, and he’d stay down town at the hotel or go 
home with some of his friends four or five nights out of a week. 
It was awful lonesome for me, here alone so much.” 

The good-natured servant had no idea what bitterness her 
words carried into the heart of the woman she was so glad to see. 
But finally, warmed and cheered a little, and brought out of her- 
self by the chattering maid, she tried to think that what she had 
seen was perhaps nothing but a perverse vision of her tired brain. 
And with the thought that she would put off all anxiety about it 
until to-morrow, she lay down and fell into an uneasy slumber. 
But there was a tugging pain at her heart, and she lay with the 
soft hand of her babe pressed close against her cheek. 


12 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER II. 

The next morning, Eva Collquitt stood at a front window of 
her suite, looking out. The storm had ceased, and from a sky as 
clear, as soft, as blue, as if there had never been a cloud in it, the 
sun looked down, warm and bright, while the bracing air that 
blew in at her window was invigorating enough to put new life 
into the dying. But she felt it only as an irritation, for it fanned 
her faculties into keener appreciation of her misery. Through the 
heavy, tugging ache that filled her heart, the thought came oftener 
now, and each time with a sharper pain, “ How happy they 
looked ! ” She had not yet given the matter comprehensive 
thought, she had simply felt miserable, and had cried, holding all 
judgment in abeyance until she could see her husband. She was 
wondering how long that would be, — how long this painful sus- 
pense, that seemed as if it would paralyze both mind and body, 
would have to continue, — when she saw him on across street, walk- 
ing toward their home. His step was rapid and buoyant, and face 
and manner bore that appearance — it could be recognized as far 
as he could be seen — of complete, exultant satisfaction and happi- 
ness which visits most people once in a lifetime, but seldom 
oftener. The instant her eye rested upon him, she knew, in- 
stinctively, that it was all true, and there flashed through her, like 
an electric current, a wild, fierce anger. She turned from the 
window, lest he might see her, and not come in, and stood in the 
middle of the room, her little hands clenched until the nails 
brought blood, her features set, and her blue eyes flaming and 
flashing. It was the first time in her placid, well-ordered life she had 
ever been thoroughly angry. If she could have looked into the 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


!3 


future, and seen what the consequences of her rage were to be, — 
seen the new being into which it would transform her, and the 
things she would become capable of doing, — she would have fled 
from it, from her husband, from herself, in fear and horror. 

It would change the lives of most of us scarcely less than it 
would have altered hers, if, when we stand upon these occasional 
precipices of possibility, we could see where the step from the 
brink will take us. But one who stands thereon is never capable 
of forethought or of caution. All he knows is the present, and all 
he feels is the necessity of taking the leap. 

So she, filled with a flaming, consuming anger, desiring to 
visit her wrath upon him, stood and waited, while the baby, a 
dainty white mite, sat on the floor playing and gurgling, and he, 
whistling, mounted the stairs, three steps at a time, his pulses 
bounding with an intoxicating happiness. He did not know that 
she was there until he opened the door of the room and stood 
face to face with her. He saw at once that she knew, and so he 
closed the door behind him, and stood facing her, his hand upon 
the door knob, waiting for her to speak. He met her angry gaze 
with cool, gray eyes, that did not waver. His impassive con- 
fidence angered her still more. Her body trembled with passion, 
and she bit her lips to keep from screaming. 

“ Well ? ” 

It was he that spoke, seeing at last that she waited for 
him. He was a large man, well-built, erect, and broad-shouldered, 
with a clear, white skin, long moustache and imperial of yellowish 
brown, and hair a shade darker. Altogether, he looked the type 
of clean, healthy, well-regulated manhood. Still she did not 
speak. She was trying to get her tongue and her brain under 
thorough control, so that she would neither do nor say anything 
of which she might afterward be ashamed. She would have 
thought it inexpressibly vulgar to let her temper get from under 
her control, and, filled with rage though she was, she wanted to 


14 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


act and speak with calmness and judgment, and she wanted to 
give him a fair chance. His nonchalant attitude, as he stood 
there, with one hand in his pocket, was almost more than her self- 
control could bear, and his calm eyes, meeting hers so steadfastly, 
made her brain whirl. So she stood there collecting herself, and 
pulling taut the rein over her anger, until he spoke again. 

“ Well ? ” 

Her blue eyes darkened and gleamed, her nostrils quivered, 
and the flush on her cheeks spread down to her neck and up over 
her forehead, but she spoke in low and even tones, that only now 
and then trembled a little. 

“ Two years ago, a man and a woman stood up before God’s 
minister, and took jnarriage vows. They promised to be faithful 
to each other until death. One of them has broken that vow.” 

“ And they said, too, that they loved each other. One of 
them did love the other, but she, — you know very well what her 
feelings were toward him, and you know, too, what I have never 
been able to guess, why she deceived him. For you did deceive 
me, Eva. You did not love me then, and you have not loved me 
since.” 

She had not expected this, and it increased her anger to be 
thus put on the defensive. She longed to let loose her tongue 
and overwhelm him with a flood of wrath. But the habit of self- 
control asserted itself, and she gripped her hands together, and 
ground her teeth an instant before she replied, still in the same 
low, measured tones. 

“ What you accuse me of is only partly true. Perhaps when 
we were married I did not fully understand the meaning of love, — 
how many girls do? — but I learned to love you afterward, and I 
have loved you ever since. I do not now. I hate you. Because 
you have made yourself a part of that uncleanness which I 
abhor” 

“You? You love me ? Eva, you have no conception of what 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 




love is if you think that calm friendship which you feel for me is 
love.” 

She looked at him with a sneer. “ Indeed ! it seems you 
have discovered something more than that ! ” 

“ I have. And I intend to keep it. Perhaps you really think 
you have loved me. I wish it had come to you to be undeceived 
first. I would have said, “Go, and be happy,” — 

“ I do not doubt it ! ” 

“ For you have a capability of loving equal to this which you 
now show of being angry. You, nor any one who knows you, 
would have thought it possible for you to get into such a rage as 
this. Some day you will realize a possibility of love that will be 
quite as surprising.” 

“If I understand you rightly,” — her face still carried its 
sneer, — - “you are trying to make me see that it is simply chance 
which has prevented me from being the one to violate our mar- 
riage vows with this unclean debauchery.” 

He was striding up and down the room, and he threw back 
his head with a gesture of impatience. 

“No! What I am trying to make you see is that you violated 
those vows from the very moment they were taken, and deceived 
me before. Eva, if you knew anything whatever about love, you 
would know that for us two to live together has been a lie and a 
pollution from the very start. I know that you are capable of 
feeling the most passionate love, by the side of which this calm 
attachment you have had for me would be nothing. And I know, 
too, that I am not the man to awaken it.” 

“ And so you want to set me adrift now, and give me a chance 
to find my affinity. Your harlot has taught you fine notions of 
generosity.” 

He made a sharp turn toward her, with a sudden anger 
flaming in his eyes. But, checking himself, he muttered between 
his teeth : — 


1 6 FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

“ What is the use of putting facts before a woman ? ” 

“Quite as much,” she retorted, “as there is in telling the 
truth to a man infatuated with a harlot.” 

She drew back as he came near her, as if she feared his touch, 
or even his nearness, would soil her garments, and went hurriedly 
on, lest he might interrupt her. 

“ Harris, I was well satisfied and happy. I loved you fondly, 
though you insist on believing that I did n’t. It was your love 
that died, if anybody’s did, and you are the one to blame. You 
took advantage of my absence, and while I was busy over my 
poor father’s death-bed, you went about, debauching yourself 
with this vile woman who has infatuated you. And now you try 
to throw the burden of guilt upon me, and dare to charge me with 
deception ! Humph ! You seem to have lost all sense of 
honor, as well as of shame. I saw you last night driving on the 
streets with this — this — creature, and exhibiting your shameless 
love where any passer-by might see it.” 

He whirled about, rapidly losing the patience and self-control 
he had been compelling upon himself. 

“Eva, you told me that you loved me. You did not. You 
were cold, impassive, unresponsive. You deceived me. How 
could I help but find it out? I loved you fervently, but our 
honeymoon had hardly begun when your coldness, which you 
tried hard to conceal, began to damp my feeling. It was only a 
question of time when it would all end. For love demands, and 
must receive, an equal return for all that it gives. If it does not 
get that much, it dwindles away and dies. That is what happened 
to my love for you, because you were unresponsive. If you had felt 
for me as I did for you, we would have lived together in complete 
happiness. But, under the circumstances, what has happened 
was inevitable. And as for this infatuation — as you call it — of 
mine being unclean, our living together without love has been a 
great deal more unclean and immoral.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


T 7 


She had lost almost all control of herself. Her hands twitched, 
and her voice broke into shrill tones. 

“ There is but one insult left for you to heap upon me. Why 
don’t you finish it up, and tell me I am no better than this vile 
woman herself ? ” 

A flame of anger gleamed in his eyes, and the low, intense 
tones in which he spoke cut her like a sharp blade. 

“ Compared with you and what you have done, she is purity 
itself.” 

The look of a wild beast ready to spring disfigured her 
face. She lifted one hand toward the door. 

“ Go!” 

For a moment they stood face to face, looking into each 
other’s eyes, silent. Utter stillness reigned in the room. Then 
the child, which had been very quiet, absorbed in its toys, gave a 
sudden, baby shout. The man had not noticed before that it was 
in the room. A look of surprised pleasure came into his face, 
and he moved toward the little one. She stepped between them, 
holding up her hand with a warning gesture. 

“You are unclean. You cannot touch it. Go !” 

He turned toward her convulsed face a single, pitying glance, 
threw a kiss to the baby, and left the room. She heard him close 
the outer door of their apartments, and then she sank into a chair, 
weak and shivering. The child, perceiving in its faint, baby intel- 
ligence that something was wrong, looked at her with quivering 
lips and tear-filled eyes, and when she did not ‘notice it with 
quick mother-soothing, it set up a loud, forlorn wail. She took 
it up absent-mindedly, and, unthinking, perhaps ignorant of what 
the result might be, put it to her breast. An hour later it lay 
dead in her arms. 


i8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER III. 

While these things were going on in the Collquitt home, a 
young woman was sleeping in a room a few blocks distant. The 
loose sleeves of her night-dress had fallen back to her shoulders, 
and her bare arms, round and white, and delicately moulded, were 
thrown above her head, making a soft, gleaming frame for her 
sleeping face. The picture was very pleasant to look upon. She 
was not quite beautiful, — the nose and mouth were too large for 
that, — but she had the look of perfect health, — its rich, warm 
tints, and its clear, soft, pearly skin ; and there was that about her 
appearance which gave the impression of vigor and great vitality, 
as if the tide of life ran high in her veins. It was a fact, too, 
that invalids and weakly persons who came near her always felt the 
instinctive wish to take her hand, so great was the impression of 
abounding health and vigor that her presence gave. Her auburn 
hair was combed back straight, save for the loose waves into 
which it broke from her forehead, unshaded by bangs ; but a few 
short, crispy, natural little curls lay upon her temples, and broke 
the sharpness of the line between forehead and hair. Where 
the light fell upon her hair, and particularly where a ray of sun- 
shine crossed its mass, it glowed like burnished copper, but in 
the shadow it lost this peculiar brightness, and smouldered into a 
dull, reddish brown. The girl was evidently dreaming, for she 
smiled and stirred in her sleep, and when, presently, she awoke 
there was a happy light in her clear, dark eye. Her dreams 
were pleasant ones, and the memory of them remained with her 
many months and held much influence over her life. She 
dreamed first that a baby lay by her side, a tiny infant, and it 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


x 9 


was her baby. Its little lips clung close to her breast and sent 
a deep delight through all her being. Its tiny head nestled close 
against her, and its little hand curled like the tendril of a vine 
round her finger. Its feet pressed and worked themselves in 
baby nestling close against her body and awakened her. She 
lay perfectly still for an instant, the mother love of her dream 
still throbbing in her veins. She even put her hand down be- 
side her, where the baby had seemed to be, and felt a faint pang 
that there was nothing there. Then, suddenly remembering, she 
smiled at herself and turned over with an eager look on her face. 
But, finding that she was alone, she put one hand caressingly on 
the other pillow and slept again And again she dreamed. But 
this time the baby had grown into a cunning little child, toddling 
about, which came rushing to her with arms outspread, and 
caught her head between its hands, and held it down beside its 
own velvety cheek. It fondled her face and her hair, saying in 
tender, lisping tones, “Poor mamma,” “Nice mamma,” “Dear 
mamma ! ” It climbed into her lap and nestled close against her 
breast, patting her hands and arms, her face and hair, with 
caressing, baby touches, and looking up into her eyes with smiling, 
baby confidence. She held in her hands its soft, warm, rounded 
limbs and pressed with her lips its rose-leaf skin, and her heart 
went out to it with a mighty, bounding love, that seemed to wrench 
her loose from all things else. The shock awakened her again. At 
once she felt it was a dream, and she folded her arms, pressing 
them close against her breast, and wept because they were empty. 

The man who had shared Mrs. Collquitt’s coupe the night be- 
fore had been welcomed by the hotel clerk with a hearty, “Ah, 
Mr. Malquam ! Back again? Glad to see you. Your room’s all 
ready. Will you go up now ? ” 

“ Yes, think I will. I’ve had a tiresome ride to-day. Eight 
hours coming from Fall River, over the deucedest, shakiest road 
you ever saw. Anything new since I’ve been away ? ” 


20 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ Nothing that you probably don’t know already, or won’t find 
out before to-morrow noon.” And the clerk laughed and nodded 
knowingly, in good-humored appreciation of his guest’s sagacity. 

Malquam was a medium-sized, stockily-built man, quick, active, 
and graceful in his movements, with a buoyant, confident manner, 
and a bright, interested way of taking whatever happened that 
always won him friends. The dark skin of his face was richly 
colored, his hair and heavy moustache were dark, almost black, as 
also were his eyes. These he had a habit, when talking with any 
one, of opening slowly, with a flickering motion of the lids, and 
then resting them with an interested expression upon his 
companion. One had to look at them closely to discover their 
lurking keenness. But the head, round, though fairly well-shaped, 
set solidly on the short, thick neck, told very plainly, for all his 
frank and debonair manner, of uncurbed desires, and iron will that 
stopped at npthing to gain their gratification. But he was hand- 
some and fascinating, especially with women, and he was accus- 
tomed to take life with the hand of a contemptuous master. He 
had been a lawyer, when a lucky speculation in mining stocks in- 
duced him to give up that profession and turn stock broker. 
Continued good luck led him into the business of a general 
propagator and manager of financial schemes. He had made a 
good deal of money for himself, and much more for others, and 
he was already well known in the financial world of Boston as a 
long-headed, ingenius, and sagacious man, very successful in his 
management of financial affairs, though brilliant and audacious in 
his methods. Although short of thirty by two years, his friends 
were already prophesying that he would soon be a high 
financial magnate. But Boston’s heavy men were apt to shake 
their heads disapprovingly whenever his name was mentioned, 
and most of them held aloof from schemes in which he was con- 
cerned. His methods in finance, however, were the result of his 
temperament. He conducted all his life in the same masterful^ 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 


high-handed way. At election times his bets were always the 
highest in the city. If he sat down to a poker game, every one 
at the table knew that thousands of dollars would change hands, 
even if the game lasted but a few hours. If his horse was passed 
on the road, he immediately sold it, and did not rest until he had 
bought a better one, and had distanced his former rival. He was 
a member of half a dozen clubs, of every variety, from the Crib 
to the Somerset, and knew every member of each of them, and all 
his history. He was always to be seen at an important boxing or 
slugging match, and always backed his favorite with high figures. 
He was a hale fellow, well met, with all the champions, and talked 
the jargon of the ring as glibly as he did that of State Street. He 
was a familiar figure in the greenrooms of the theatres, and knew 
and had entertained at little suppers most of the actresses, and 
all the prettiest chorus girls, that visited the city. The outer 
doors of society — as that minute section of the world which is 
compelled to make a business of enjoying itself insists on being 
called — had opened to him, though the inner temples were still a 
little dubious about his right to full fellowship. However, it re- 
ceived him occasionally, as men were so scarce, and, if he had 
wished, he could soon have been gladly welcomed wherever he 
chose to go. But he did not care much for society, and accepted 
its invitations only often enough to keep its portals open, and to 
give variety and zest to his other amusements. 

To-night, as he moved about the room, disrobing himself, his 
thoughts returned to his co-traveller from the depot. “ That was 
Eva Langley, surely. She married after I knew her, did n’t she ? 
That was, — let me see, — it was while I was practising law, — it 
must have been three years ago. I met her down in Fall River, 
when I went down there to conduct that will case. Seems to me, 
I got considerably interested in her, and if I’d kept plodding 
along at the law, it’s quite probable I’d have married her. She 
married somebody after that, did n’t she ? Why, yes, of course. 


22 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


She had a baby in her arms to-night. Hold on ! Why, it was 
Collquitt, that newspaper man I met at Billivan’s match, just 
before I went away. I’d forgotten all about it. Strange I did n’t 
think of it then! By Jove! yes, so he was. He was with us 
up to the madam’s that night, the night before I left. Now, if I 
wanted to, I could throw a pretty fire-brand into his household. 
As I recollect, Eva was an awful stickler for propriety. The 
principal thing I remember about her is that she never let me kiss 
her, or even hold her hand. She evidently saw something to-night 
that horrified her. Wonder if it wouldn’t be worth while for me 
to look her up. I’ll discover first, though, what it was that made 
her look so amazed to-night. I’ll hunt up that cabby the first 
thing in the morning. ” Then he stretched himself in his bed, 
and in a moment more, being still possessed of sound nerves and 
strong will, he was sound asleep. 

The next morning, while Eva Collquitt sat in her home, 
looking at her dead baby, crushed and dazed by her sudden mis- 
fortunes, and while the young woman with the auburn hair dreamed 
of motherhood and awoke to wish for it, Malquam came down the 
stairs of Parker’s Hotel, smiling, happy, and gaily expectant of 
good luck. That was his usual frame of mind. He had an almost 
superstitious faith in the good luck that had so far unceasingly 
attended his career. He never made an allowance in any of his 
plans, either of business or of personal affairs, for ill fortune or 
failure, but always confidently expected that everything that 
happened to him would be of the most auspicious kind. This 
morning, at least, his lucky star did not desert him, for there 
before the door, standing beside his carriage, was the very man 
he wished to see. 

“Good morning, my friend. I’m obliged to you for befriend- 
ing me last night, and persuading your lady passenger to take 
me in.” 

“ It was a wet night, sir, — a mighty wet night.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 3 


“And a wet night makes a man dry the next morning, doesn't 
it ? Better take this and go in and get something. I want you 
to-night, and don’t want to have a driver with a cold.” 

When the man came out again, Malquam beckoned him and 
said : — 

“ I may go out of the city this afternoon, and I want you to 
be at the Providence depot for me at six o’clock. I may go away 
and I may not, but I want you to be there, sure ; and as there is a 
chance that I won’t, you’d better take this right now for your 
trouble.” And he put into the driver’s hand a wadded-up green- 
back, which he took care showed to the fellow’s delighted eyes 
a figure ten, plain and uncrumpled, upon one corner. 

Cabby grinned a knowing grin. “ Thank you, boss. Any- 
thing I can do for you this morning ? ” 

“No, I guess not, thank you. I don’t know, though, perhaps 
you can. Did you notice, last night, that we passed a carriage 
stopped just around the corner on Washington Street ? ” 

“Yes, boss, I do remember it, but I did n’t notice it partickler. 
Did n’t look inside of it, nor nothing. But I see the driver just 
goin’ into the saloon as we passed, and he’s a friend of mine.” 

“That’s good. You see him and find out all you can, and 
report at my office at three o’clock this afternoon.” 

Malquam spent several busy hours explaining to a half-dozen 
capitalists a scheme for organizing an electric street-lighting com- 
pany. He was enthusiastic over it, was sure it could be made to 
succeed, and urged upon them the necessity of going into the 
matter at once, before somebody else stepped into the opening. 
One of them was inclined to favor the scheme, but the rest were 
rather doubtful and wanted time to consider the matter. As 
they passed out, the cab driver was shown into his private office. 
Malquam was deeply annoyed by his failure to impress the 
capitalists with his scheme and as they went out muttered some- 
thing about the “cursed caution of these slow-going Bostonians.” 


24 


B’ RANGES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


But he received cabby with the same smiling affability he had 
shown in the morning. 

“ Well, my friend, punctual to the minute, are n’t you ? I like 
that. Sit down, and let’s hear how much you know.” 

“Well, boss, Jim, he tells me the couple he had last night 
was that sweet on each other that they did n’t seem to know or 
care how many times he stopped and got a little something to 
warm him up. He stopped four times goin’ from School Street 
up to No. Chandler Street.” 

Malquam’s eyelids slowly raised, and he looked at the cabman 
with an expression of interest and friendliness that made the 
fellow feel as if he had been taken into the inmost confidence of 
this rich and handsome young man. 

“ Chandler Street? You are sure about the number?” 

“Yes, boss, he’s been there often, and so have I. No mis- 
take about that.” And cabby grinned and winked. 

“ Did he take them from there in the first place ? ” 

“ Yes, he took ’em from there to the Globe Theatre, then to 
Parker’s for their supper, and then back again.” 

“ How did they look ? ” 

“Well, he was a big, broad-shouldered man, stood up very 
straight, and had a brown moustache and goatee. The lady was a 
mighty pretty little woman, with kind of red hair, not quite red, but 
mighty near it. Jim says they were pretty well mashed, both of ’em.” 

“ Did he know whether he’d ever driven either of them 
before ? ” 

“Yes, he said he’d driven the man once or twice from the 
Mirror office up to the Dighton Hotel, on Columbus Avenue.” 

“Well, my friend, you’ve done the work well. I’m much 
obliged to you, and I’ll not forget it, either. Just give me your 
name and number before you go.” 

“Yes, sir. Andrew Peters, 57. Call on me, boss, whenever 
I kin help you.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 5 


Malquam took a directory and ran his finger down the column 
of C’s. “ Collquitt, Harris, journalist, the Mirror, residence 
Dighton Hotel. I thought so. There’s only one pretty girl who 

has hair “ sort of red ” at Chandler Street. It appears my 

pretty Frances has been deserting me. This is what I get for 
taking Collquitt there. ‘Mashed on each other, ’ eh? I’ll soon 
break that up.” 

A brutal anger was stirring within him, when he suddenly 
remembered why he had had the investigation made. Then the 
situation struck him as funny. 

“ Oh, ho ! so that was what my lady saw last night, — her 
husband and another woman in a carriage making eyes at each 
other ! I’ll have to look her up, sure, now, for we’ll have a ground 
of sympathy, since her husband has taken up with my girl. I’ll 
bet my hat she’ll let me put my arm around her now. She’ll be 
glad to let me, just to have revenge on him. Thunder ! what a 
little prude she used to be ! ” 

Not long after making this soliloquy Malquam sat in the 

parlor of No. Chandler Street, waiting for Frances Hawthort. 

As she entered, he came forward familiarly, attempting to put his 
arm about her, and bending his head to kiss her lips. But she 
drew back, escaping his caress, and said : — 

“ No, we can only shake hands now.” 

“ How is this, Frances ? ” He spoke in a grieved, surprised 
tone. “What is the matter? Ha$e I done anything to offend 
you ? Have n’t you a warmer welcome than this for a fellow, when 
he’s been gone so long and has wanted so much to see you ? ” 

His manner and tone were gentleness itself as he held her 
hand, stroking it, and then attempted to draw her to him. She 
was a fine-looking woman, a little above medium size, with a 
figure whose flowing curves, melting into one another, outlined a 
form of perfect proportions. The large mouth and nose did not 
mar her face, but rather give it character and expression. Her 


26 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


auburn hair glowed where the light fell on it, and he put up one 
hand to caress the shining, waving bands, combed back into a 
loose knot at her neck. But she pulled away her hand and drew 
back a few steps. Her hands were cold, though her heart was 
beating violently. She feared the man. 

“ I know,” she began, hesitating, her voice trembling. “ I 
know it must seem dreadful to 'you, just as if I were one — one 
of the girls here. I hate myself because it is so. Not because 
things are like they are now, but because — because I ever 
consented to — to what you — oh, you know what I mean.” 

“ Are you trying to tell me, Frances, that you don’t love me 
any more ? ” 

She had dropped her face in her hands. He stepped up 
softly and threw his arm suddenly around her. She broke away 
from him again, but the feeling of her waist within his arm had 
set his pulses going, and he hovered about her, trying to catch 
her hand, or to get her in his arms, while she, nervous and pant- 
ing, eluded him, so intent on keeping out of his grasp that her 
words stammered along in broken phrases. 

“ No, I don’t love you. I never did love you, — oh ! it was 
shameful, — I am a bad, bad woman, — but I am so happy ! ” 

She had suddenly turned, facing him, a chair between them. 
The thought of her love lighted up her face, and the sight of her 
standing there, smiling and glowing, her head thrown back, 
maddened him. He desired hfer a thousand times the more now 
that she had slipped from him. 

“Happy!” he growled between his set teeth. “Happy! 
And I’ve been away three weeks! You are beginning well! I 
thought a girl just from a convent might have some constancy ! 
You are just like the rest of them ! ” 

Her face dropped and faded. “I know how it must seem to 
you. I know I have no right to resent your words. But can’t 
you have some pity on me ? If I had loved you I would have 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 7 


stayed true to you. But how could I help it ? I met the one man 
in the world for me, and we could n’t help loving each other.” 

“ But I love you, Frances. I want you. I must have you. 
You belong to me. You are mine, mine, I say.” 

“Mr. Malquam ! Jack! Have pity on me and go away. 
What do you want of me if I don’t love you ? Oh, do go away ! ” 

She had opened the door with the sudden idea of dashing 
out of the room and running away to lock herself up. But her 
brief pause at the door gave him his opportunity, and before she 
could get out he had clasped her in his arms. 

“Now we will see whether you are mine or his!” he 
exclaimed in triumph, kissing her passionately. She shrieked 
and tried to ward off his kisses with her hands. Just then the 
outside door opened, and Collquitt came in. His sudden appear- 
ance so surprised Malquam that he loosened his hold of Frances, 
and she broke from him and hid herself behind Collquitt, seizing 
his arm and exclaiming : — 

“ Harris, Harris, make him go away ! ” 

“ What do you mean by this performance ? ” Collquitt ex- 
claimed angrily, his eyes flaming. 

Malquam, feeling himself baffled, beside himself with rage, 
shouted : — 

“ The whore is mine ! If you — ” 

But the threat was not finished. A sudden blow from 
Collquitt’s fist, straight in his mouth, gashed his lips and knocked 
out a tooth. Quick as a flash, he whipped a revolver from 
his hip pocket, and 'brought its shining barrel to a level with 
Collquitt’s eyes. But quick as Malquam was, Collquitt was 
quicker, and, just as the trigger clicked, his hand knocked the 
barrel upward, and the bullet tore the plaster from the wall a few 
feet above his head. A quick turn of the same hand wrenched 
the revolver from Malquam’s grasp, and in another instant it was 
Malquam who was looking into its muzzle. 


28 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“You damned dog, get down on your knees and beg her 
pardon ! ” 

Malquam stood poised, on the very point of springing at 
Collquitt, but the gleaming revolver arrested his movement and 
caused his face to grow suddenly pale. Powerful and compelling 
as were the passions of sex and of rage that were boiling within 
him, the love of life was stronger than both together. The 
knowledge that it was sure death this man held in his hands, — 
for Collquitt was generally known as the best shot in the city, — 
and the instinctive, panic-like dread of death that seized him, 
with the mental effect which resulted from the sudden withdrawal, 
through fear, of the blood from his rage-congested brain, com- 
bined to momentarily daze him, and he sank, trembling, upon 
one knee. 

“ Both knees ! ” Collquitt sternly commanded. “ I will give 
you till I count three. One, two, th — .” 

But the click of the trigger emphasized the sound, and he did 
not need to finish the word. 

“Now, say: ‘I swallow my words and I beg your pardon.’ 
Quick ! this revolver is cocked ! ” 

Malquam muttered for an instant incoherently, as if his 
dazed brain were trying to follow the other’s commands. 

“ Now get up, and get out before I kick you out.” 

Malquam jumped to his feet with an oath. Until Collquitt’s 
last words he had not fully realized what he had been made to do. 
It all flashed over him now, and his face was purple with rage, the 
veins standing out on his face and neck, and his eyes glaring like 
those of a mad bull. Again he made a movement as if he would 
spring upon Collquitt, but the revolver steadily pointed at his 
temple restrained him. Compelled by Collquitt’s clear and con- 
temptuous gaze, he moved toward the door. 

“You’ll pay for this,” he said thickly. 

“ Get out of my sight, and be thankful to me that you’re not 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 9 


a dead man,” was Collquitt’s only answer, as he pointed toward 
the door. 

Malquam opened it and stepped out, saying again, “ You’ll 
pay for this.” 

Collquitt watched him narrowly, holding the revolver in 
position with a perfectly steady hand, until he reached the bottom 
of the steps, and then threw it after him, calling out : — 

“Here’s your gun. You may want it some time.” 


3 ° 


FRANCES . A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Frances stepped forward to meet Collquitt as he walked back 
from the door, her hands stretched out, her cheeks flushed, and 
her eyes eloquent of love and admiration. 

“ O, Harris ! How masterful and strong you are, and — how 
I love you ! If you hadn’t come in just at that moment ! ” 

“ I am thankful enough I did. I hurried up here just as 
soon as I could leave the office, for I have important news to tell 
you. Let us go upstairs.” 

They walked up the stairs, his arm about her waist, to her 
room. 

“ Poor little girl ! How nervous and excited he has made 
you. Why, you are trembling with the reaction. Here, lean your 
head upon my shoulder, and let me see if I can’t calm you down.” 
And he stroked her forehead, and hair, and hands, murmuring 
endearing little nothings, as tenderly as a mother would soothe an 
excited child. She gave herself up to the delicious sense of being 
taken care of, and everything passed out of her mind for the 
moment but the soothing, lulling consciousness of being sur- 
rounded by his love. Suddenly she gave a little start, remember- 
ing what he had said, and asked what was his important news. 

“ I went over home this morning to get some things and 
found my wife there.” 

He hesitated, hoping she would say something, ask some 
question that would make it easier to go on. It was hard to say 
anything about the out-worn love to the woman who had inspired 
him with this new feeling that gripped him so close, and it was 
still harder to let her know anything about the character of the 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 31 

scene he had passed through that morning. He felt no resent- 
ment toward Eva, no revulsion of feeling. He had a calm, affec- 
tionate regard for her, and a sincere pity for the anguish he knew 
she felt. He had not even felt anger or resentment because she 
had married him without loving him, neither when he first dis- 
covered the fact in the early months of their married life, nor 
now, when he had come into the realization of such a love as all 
men and women have longed for and dreamed about. He had not 
held this deception against her in his heart, but had considered it 
as men are accustomed to feel about feminine vagaries which they 
cannot understand, as a queer freak which merits the indulgence 
one would give to a whimsical child or the cranky notions of a 
weak-minded person. He felt for her only tenderness, and 
respect for her many good qualities, and he wished it were in his 
power to lighten the blow he had felt compelled to give her. So 
now it seemed very hard to say anything about her to the new 
love, and he waited, hoping Frances would say something that 
would make the way clearer. But she did not, and he went on : — 

“ She knew about us. She told me she saw us in the carriage 
last night. And she is very, very angry. She is so angry that 
when I defended our love, she ordered me away, and would not 
let me kiss the baby good-bye.” 

Frances sat up, a faint pang of pity for this unknown woman 
passing through her heart. But before she spoke another idea 
filled her mind, and entirely obscured the other. 

“ Then why can’t we go away from here entirely ? I wish we 
could.” 

Collquitt did not reply at once, for he was suddenly filled 
with a keen and painful realization of the position into which he 
had put himself and her. The absorbing love which had fallen 
upon both of them at the very beginning of their acquaintance 
had compelled them with pitiless power and had caused them to 
forget all other relations, the outside world, everything but the 


32 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


one fact of themselves and their love. And now he thought that 
perhaps he had not been acting fairly. After a moment, he 
unwillingly confessed to himself that possibly his wife did have 
some right to feel aggrieved. “ It must seem to her that I have 
basely deceived her, but how could it have been different ? Per- 
haps I ought to have written to her about it. I have blundered 
sadly, I am afraid, and — yes — I was selfish and thoughtless. 
Well, it can’t be helped now. I must do the best for her that I 
can.” Absorbed by his painful thought, he had forgotten Frances' 
question, and presently she repeated it. 

“ Do you think we can go away from here ? ” 

“ I wish we could, dearest. I wish we could go thousands of 
miles away, and be entirely alone, just we two.” As he spoke, an 
undercurrent of thought flowed through his mind. Had he not 
wronged this trusting girl ? Had he not taken advantage of her 
ignorance of the world ? And yet — and yet — he could not 
regret these happy weeks, and perhaps he had saved her from 
something worse, and she was his, and he loved her, and he would 
make amends for all his love might cost her. With a sudden 
tightening of his fingers about hers, he went on. “ But we cannot 
go away from Boston, — at least, not just now. Perhaps, after a 
while, it will be possible. I must get you away from this house, 
though, at once. I ought not to have left you here all this time. 
But I have been so absorbed in our Jove that my wits seem to 
have deserted me. I have been thoughtless in this, as well as in 
other things. Your being here is such an incongruity, anyway, 
that if I did n’t know something of your history, it would be the 
queerest thing I ever came across.” 

“ I have wanted to tell you all about myself, for I wished you 
to know all the excuse there is for my being here, but — ” she 
nestled her head close against his neck, hesitating a little — “but 
I also disliked to let you know, because it seemed as if — as if 
my telling you about it would be — be trying to throw shame upon 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


33 


— my mother, and defending myself at her cost. And then I was 
half afraid to tell you, for fear it would make you, — perhaps, — 
think a little — a little less of me, and as if — as if — I belonged 
here.” 

He leaned his cheek against her forehead, and gently stroked 
her hair. 

“ My darling, nothing you could tell me would make me care 
any the less for you. I know that you are essentially a good, 
pure, true, loving woman, even if I did find you here, where no 
one else has any one of those qualities, and I know that you love 
me as much as I do you. What else need I concern myself about ? 
I do not care at all why you are here, and I do not want you to 
tell me anything that you do not entirely wish me to know.” 

“ I can’t feel quite honest unless I have told you all about it. 
To-day I have been searching carefully through my mother’s desk ? 
and I have found some papers which she had evidently written 
for the purpose of explaining and justifying her life to me. There 
was nothing to show when she expected me to see them, but I 
imagine she intended to send them to me sometime soon. In 
them she told all the story of her life. Her people lived in Fall 
River, and she was born and brought up there. You’ve been 
there a good deal, have n’t you ? I’ll tell you their names, and 
perhaps you’ll know some of them. Her real name was Annie — 
Annie Bertram, but she sajd in this paper that she had never used 
it since before I was born. She had a sister named — Alice, an 
older sister, who, when my mother left, was married to a man 
named — , now, what was his name? Langley? Yes, that’s it, 
Langley, and they had a little girl, Eva, who is three years older 
than I, if she is still living. Reading about all these relatives has 
made me want to see them and know them. How nice it would be 
to know my cousin Eva, and what great friends we might become. 
It would be almost like having a sister. But I forgot to ask you 
if you knew any of them when you lived there. I wondered 


34 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


to-day if you had n’t known Eva.” If she had looked up she would 
have seen a queer expression about his compressed lips and in 
his eyes. 

“I think I remember some of the names. But go on. Did 
your mother leave Fall River ? ” 

“ When she was a young woman, not quite twenty years old, 
she had a lover. They were deeply in love with each other, but 
his people did n’t want him to marry her. They were much 
wealthier than my mother’s people, and they wanted him to marry 
somebody that would increase his fortune and be a more brilliant 
match. So they made him go away, to travel, and while he was 
gone I was born. Her father and mother were so angry that they 
turned her out of doors a few weeks before I came, and to get 
away from the sight of everybody she knew, she came up here to 
Boston. She wrote to my father a good many times, but she 
never heard a word from him again. A long time afterward she 
found out that he had been converted and was a preacher. In 
this letter to me, that I have been reading to-day, she told me his 
name. From the way she spoke of him, he must be rather a 
famous man. But I am so ignorant of everything out in the world 
that I don’t know anything about it. He is settled over a church 
in New York, and he is the Rev. Francis Hawthort. Do you 
know anything about him ? ” 

“ What ! the Rev. Francis Hawthort ! Is he your father ? ” 

“ Then he is a famous man ! ” 

A thrill of joy passed through the girl’s heart at the thought that 
she was connected with some one great, and good, and powerful. 

“Yes, he is my father. My mother called me by his name, 
and made my first name as nearly like his as possible.” 

Collquitt looked steadily at her face a moment. 

“ Yes, you look very much like him, though I never thought 
of it before. You have the same nose and mouth, and your eye- 
brows are like his — straight and heavy, and your manner, too, 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


35 

now that I know your relationship, I see is very much the same, 
dignified, but eager and cordial, as if you enjoyed living.” 

The girl had grasped his hand, and was listening with an 
almost painful eagerness to his words. 

“ How odd it seems to see any one that knows my father ! 
How I wish I could see him ! I wonder if I ever shall. But I’ve 
wandered away from my story, have n’t I ? When mother found 
herself cast off and deserted by everybody she loved, she said she 
began to hate everything in the world but me, and she declared 
to herself that, in spite of them all, she would make me rich and 
above them. But there was only one thing she could do to get 
money — more money, that is, than would be just enough to keep 
us alive. She was already an outcast, so she just thought to her- 
self, well, what was the difference, anyway, and — and — but I 
can’t say it in cold words of my mother. You know what I mean, 
Harris. She was very saving of the money she made, and after 
awhile she got enough to start this house, and after that she made 
lots of it. She boarded me somewhere, and almost ever since I 
can remember she has kept me in a convent school away up in 
Canada. I was there for twelve years. She would come up and 
stay with me a few weeks every summer, and then she and I 
would go away together, travelling around, very slowly and 
quietly, and stopping in quiet little towns or in the country. Then 
she would take me back to school again, and she would return to 
Boston. I used to beg her to let me come, too, and stay with her 
all the time, and I can remember how she would take me in her 
arms, hold me close to her breast, kiss me, and sometimes cry 
a little. Then she would say, ‘ Not yet, darling child, not quite yet. 
After awhile, we will go away together somewhere, and always be 
together after that.’ I suppose she intended to quit this — this 
business and go away with me, far enough away so that no one 
would know anything about what she had been doing. All this 
time I never had the slightest idea what her business was. I 


36 


FRANCES I A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


had n’t been in Boston since I was eight years old, fourteen years 
ago, and mewed up as I had always been in that convent, I knew 
almost nothing of life. I had a vague idea that my mother was in 
some kind of business, but all my thoughts of her were so wrapped 
up in her individuality that I never thought of her except just as 
she looked when she visited me at the sisters’. She loved me so 
much, so very much, and always seemed perfectly happy when 
she was with me. She used to say to me sometimes, ‘ Frances, 
you are all I have in the wide world, but I would n’t trade you for 
all the rest of it.’ She was very careful about me, too, and 
wanted the sisters to keep the most careful watch over me, and 
whenever we were together she did and said everything a mother 
could, and always in the nicest and prettiest way, to keep me a 
nice, modest girl. When I think of her as she was those summers 
up there, I can’t realize, it doesn’t seem possible to me, that it was 
the same woman, my mother, who was keeping this house all the 
time, and making money for me in this dreadful way. And then 
I feel so ashamed and conscience-stricken to think that I have 
presumed to judge her when she loved me so much. 

“ But as I told you just now, I had no idea, all the time I 
lived up there, what she was doing. I loved her devotedly, and 
was just as much wrapped up in her as she was in me. She was 
all I had in the world. I had never made many friendships among 
my school friends, for mother never allowed me to visit them. 
She was all I cared for, and I thought her the sweetest, dearest, 
best woman that ever lived. Then one day, as I sat writing a 
letter to her, — and I remember I had just written that I hoped 
she would think I had been in the school long enough, and that 
after commencement we would go away together, and never come 
back, — and then they brought me a telegram saying that she had 
been hurt in a dreadful accident, and that if I wanted to see her 
alive I must come at once. I did n’t stop for anything, but before 
I reached here she was dead.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


37 


The girl’s breast was heaving, and her breath coming in 
quick, short sobs. Her lover comforted and calmed her with 
gentle, caressing touches of hands and lips upon brow, and hair, 
and mouth, and hands. The feeling of his strong, firm, whole- 
souled love all about her strengthened and upheld her as nothing 
else she had done since her bereavement. At last she went on : — 
“I couldn’t have reached here in time to see her, anyway* 
for they told me that after she was brought home she only rallied 
once, and then just long enough to tell them to telegraph to me. 
Then she lost consciousness again, and died in a few hours. It 
seemed to me that everything happened to keep me back, for I 
missed connections once, and took the wrong train another time, 
and by the time I got down here, my dear, dear mother had been 
dead two days. I can remember throwing myself on the coffin, 
and then everything is a blank. They told me that for four days 
I was nearly wild with grief, and when I quieted down and came 
quite to my senses again, she had been buried, and everything 
was going on as usual. When I came out of my room one even- 
ing and wandered over the house, feeling, oh ! so lonely, and 
heart-broken, and forlorn, it flashed upon me for the first time 
what the house was. I was so staggered and dazed that for a 
little while I hardly knew what I was about, but just looked 
around me in a dumb kind of way. At last I began to realize 
where I was, and I was very angry. A suspicion came into 
my head that I had been entrapped, like some poor girls I 
had read of in a newspaper. I sent for Mrs. Aldus, and 
asked her why she had made me come here. She smiled, 
and said I need n’t be at all afraid, that no harm would happen 
to me. Then when I spoke to her angrily about having kept 
me in such a house without my knowledge, she was annoyed, 
— for she had taken the kindest care of me while I was ill, — and 
told me bluntly that it was my mother’s home, and that she had 
run the business for a dozen years, and would have been at it yet 


3 « 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


if she had n’t got hurt. My head swam with her words, and I 
screamed at her that she lied. I was so angry at her for defam- 
ing my dear, dead mother, that I wanted to spring at her, and tear 
her flesh off her bones. I believe I did take hold of her with 
some such idea in my head, but she made me sit down, and then 
she talked to me and finally convinced me that she told me the 
truth. 

“ And then such a sickening change of feeling came over 
me. I could hardly endure to think of my mother at all, and if 
the thought of her came into my mind, it filled me with horror. I 
could not stay in her room, — it was this room, — they had given 
it to me for mine, — even a moment, without beginning to loathe 
her and all she had done. And my love for her and my grief 
were so great that when these other feelings came across me I 
was almost distracted. I ran about the house, from one room to 
another, but each new one I went into seemed worse than the 
others, and at last, feeling as if I could n’t stay another moment 
here, I threw on my hat and cloak and rushed out. I met a cab- 
man and asked him to drive me to a hotel. But when I went in 
and asked for a room, the clerk looked at me, and said their rooms 
were all engaged. I went to another, and another, but met the 
same answer both places. Then it suddenly shot through my 
mind that they did n’t want me. In my disordered state of mind 
I thought, ' They know who you are, and who your mother was, 
and they don’t want you, because you are disreputable, and your 
mother was a shameless creature.’ It did n’t occur to me that I 
had on a wrapper, and looked wild-eyed and dishevelled, and was 
all alone. 

“ I went out on the street and stood in a dark corner and 
tried to think. I did n’t know which way to turn or where to go. 
The city was all new to me, and I was afraid of getting lost. But 
I could n’t bear the thought of coming back here. It was too 
horrible. And I was afraid to come, too. I imagined the house 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


39 


would be full of wicked men ready to grab and outrage me, and 
that to come back here would be sure ruin. But I was just think- 
ing, kind of wildly, that everybody knew, anyway, and that my 
mother had branded me by her own shame, and that no decent 
place would let me in, when a man came along, glanced at me, 
stopped, and said, ‘Good evening, dear. Would you like some com- 
pany ? ’ It frightened me so that I screamed, and ran as hard as I 
could, though I was so scared I could hardly stand up, to where 
the cabman was still waiting with his carriage. I jumped in, and 
begged him to drive me back here as quick as he could. Then I 
locked myself in my room, and piled the table and chairs against 
the door, and fastened the windows down. I was so worked up 
that I didn’t sleep a wink all night, but just walked the floor, and 
cried, and cried. I could n’t give up the thought of my dear 
mother being all I had thought her. It seemed worse than having 
her die. I wished that I could die, too. The next night after 
that it rained, and there was thunder and lightning. I sat in the 
window and put my head out in the hope that the lightning would 
strike me. 

“ But after awhile the dreadfulness of it kind of wore 
off, and I got used to being here. But I was so lonely. I would 
sit here in my room alone, or walk out alone, or go to ride on the 
street cars alone. You know I did n’t know a soul in the city. I 
kept out of the way and out of the sight of the people here in the 
house just as much as I could. I could n’t bear to look at them 
or speak to them. Sometimes I thought about going back to the 
school, but it seemed as if everybody there, the sisters, and the 
scholars, and all, would know all about mother and me, and any- 
thing would be better than going back there, and seeing them look 
at me, and whisper about me. I knew I could n’t stand that, and 
so I gave that idea up right away. If I’d been the usual convent- 
school girl, I suppose I ’d have gone to church, and got hold of 
something or somebody in that way. But for all the years I spent 


4 o 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


there, I wasn’t religious. My mother was a good deal of a sceptic, 
and she had made me one, too. The loneliness got worse and 
worse, and seemed like an awful weight pressing me down. For 
days and days I would have given everything I had to be with and 
talk to somebody for an hour. It was getting to be maddening, 
and I believe I would have killed myself in a little while longer. 
But one day Mrs. Aldus made me let her come in. She brought 
me some flowers, and showed me some other little kind atten- 
tions that made me feel so grateful I could n’t help letting her sit 
down. She talked to me awhile, and finally persuaded me to go 
down in the parlor that evening. I made her promise that she 
would let me stay where I could n’t be seen, and that nobody 
should speak to me. 

“ Well, everything seemed to be nice and all right, and the 
men who came in talked so well and were so bright and enter- 
taining, and everything was so gay and jolly, that I soon felt so 
much better, and got so interested in some of the talk, that I came 
out of my hiding-place and joined in the conversation. Mr. Mal- 
quam was there, and I thought him so bright and interesting. 
When Mrs. Aldus saw that he was about to go over near me, she 
took him aside, and, I suppose, told him about me. For when 
she presented him to me, a little while after, he was just as nice, 
and respectful, and sympathetic as could be, and we soon were 
good friends. He took me to drive the next day, and I can't tell 
you how delightful it was to go spinning along in such pleasant 
company. He took me to drive often after that, and to the 
theatre, and would come here very often in the evening, and talk 
with me for an hour or two. After that first evening, I went down 
to the parlor every night. I began to think it was n’t nearly as 
bad as it seemed. Very often there would be nothing at all dur- 
ing the two or three hours I would stay there that seemed out of 
the way. And I soon got used to the things they sometimes did 
and said that were n’t very nice, and I did n’t mind them. After 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


41 


two or three weeks I did and said things myself, sometimes, that 
would have seemed perfectly dreadful at first. 

“Very soon Mr. Malquam began to talk about loving me, 
and about our minds being in harmony, and how necessary it 
was to his happiness to see me every day. It was the first time 
such things had ever been said to me, — for, although I am 
twenty-two years old, you must remember how I had been brought 
up, — and it made my head swim a little, and it did seem so 
good to be loved. I felt so lonely and so forsaken that when 
he talked about loving me and protecting me, it seemed as if 
nothing else in the world would be quite so good as that. So 
I let him kiss me and caress me, and then, one night, I drank 
a little more wine than I ought, and — and — well, it had been 
only a month since the first time I went into the parlor, but 
— I was — his mistress. I soon began to dislike him, for he is a 
coarse-grained man, and is selfish and tyrannical, and he has but 
little interest in the things I care most for. It was only two or 
three weeks until that night when he brought you here, and told 
me he was going away. I was very glad he was going, for I 
did n’t want to see him any more. It made me feel disgusted to 
have him near me. But I still let him come, because it was so 
lonely. And, after I had talked with you the few minutes that I 
saw you that evening, — you remember, dear, — I was more than 
glad he was to be away, even for a little while. For I knew, I 
knew that I loved you, and I felt that we were for each other. 
My darling, what happiness it has been these weeks that we 
have been loving each other. I am so glad now that I did n’t 
die, those times when I wanted to. I am perfectly — perfectly 
contented. Only — ” and a shadow fell over her face, which had 
been glowing with happiness and love — “ only” — still she hesi- 
tated, while the shadow grew heavier, and tears came into her 
€yes. 

“ Only what, darling? Tell me what troubles you ? ” 


42 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


She hid her face against his neck, her frame trembling with 
suppressed sobs. With caressing touches and love whispers, he 
tried to induce her to reveal the grief which had so suddenly- 
clouded her happiness. At last she told him in broken whispers. 

“ I would be so perfectly happy if — if — only — oh, Harris, 
how I wish you had come before I saw him ! ” 

He knew her nature well enough, and his own was sufficiently 
sensitive for him to understand, though but vaguely, the thing 
that troubled her. He knew that her knowledge of the world was 
so slight that she had little idea how large her sin would look 
in its eyes. For himself, he loved her so entirely and absorb- 
ingly that he counted it nothing, and he felt that to her it 
hardly seemed a sin, — as the world counts that kind of sin, — 
because she had been drawn into it so gradually, so necessarily, 
and because she had been so enveloped by the life about her that 
she had lost her bearings. But, as he held her close in his arms, 
her words struck a chord away down in his being that pained him 
a little, that gave him a painful wish like that which troubled her. 

Did you ever see that strangely pathetic, wistful, far-away look 
that often comes into the eyes of wrinkled and white-haired women 
as they speak of the time “ When I was a girl ” ? Did you ever notice 
the tenderness of feeling which such women have for that long- 
vanished time ? A pure-minded woman keeps all her life for that girl- 
hood, — that virginity which was hers to give but once, — a feeling 
much like that which a mother has for her first-born, buried in 
its infancy. If she has been wise enough to give it with her love 
to one who loves her in return, it is not a grief, it is hardly 
more than a vague regret, which comes with the recollections of 
girlhood. But the knives are long and sharp that plunge through 
the soul of a woman who has given her one possession unac- 
companied by the largest love of which her nature is capable. 
She soon learns what remorse is, — just as would that mother 
whose neglect had killed her best-loved offspring. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


43 


As Harris held her in his arms, his own painful wish, which had 
sprung into existence in sympathy with hers, was comforted and 
satisfied by the deep and sincere remorse he saw she felt. 

“ My dearest, do not be unhappy. I am thankful enough 
that I found you at all. I could n’t care for you any more than I 
do, no matter when I had seen you. We must n’t spoil our hap- 
piness by being sorry about something we can’t help. It will be 
better to spend the time in being glad and thankful that I hap- 
pened to come here that night. For. it was only the merest 
chance that brought me. I can’t tell you what a shock and sur- 
prise it was to see a young girl in such a place who was so mani- 
festly good and pure. You said, just now, that you felt from the 
first that we were for each other. I knew it, too, my dearest, and 
I went away, after that half-hour’s conversation with you, when I 
sat beside you, and looked into your eyes, with a heart that ached 
because you were not my wife, and because I was already 
bound.” 

Her regret was forgotten again, although she knew it would 
return the next time the thought which had caused it came back. 
She was sitting beside him, looking serious and thoughtful. 

“ I am more thankful than I can tell you, more even than I 
quite dare to tell myself, that you came that night. I know very 
well what my life would soon have become if it had n’t been for 
you. I can see now that I was just in the edge of the whirlpool, 
and — ” she drew a long, shuddering breath — “ you have saved 
me. I wonder if I could get away from this house. It is revolt- 
ing to me now, more than ever. And, after Malquam’s insult 
to-day, I shall be afraid.” 

“ Yes ; I will look up a good place for you at onoe. It has 
been very careless of me not to think of this before, but you have 
loved me so much that you have made me selfish and 
thoughtless.” 

“ I shall not be lonely now, no matter where 1 am, for I shall 


44 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


have you. I have been thinking so much to-day of my relatives 
in Fall River. I am half-inclined to go down there and hunt 
them up. It would be so nice to have friends who were akin to 
me. If you knew them when you were there, — perhaps, — you 
could — help me. I imagine my cousin Eva would be such a nice 
girl to know. How pleasant it would be to have a cousin and a 
friend all in one nice girl ! 

Collquitt’s heart failed him as Frances began talking of her 
relatives again, How could he tell her that every one of them 
would stand aside in horror if she came near, and would feel 
toward her just as she felt toward the girls of this house ? How 
could he tell her that not one of them but would shut the door in 
her face, knowing her history, or, receiving her and learning it after- 
ward, but would turn her into the street ? Above all, how could he 
tell her that that same cousin Eva whom she so longed to know 
would be filled with disgust at the thought of even touching her 
hand, had that very day spoken of her in the most insulting terms 
that she could bring herself to utter, and already hated her fiercely 
and vindictively. It would have been a great deal better for her 
if he could have told her all this. It is always better to know the 
full truth, even if it crushes us, than to go blindly about, happy in 
a belief that is not true But it is hard for a man to tell the truth 
to a woman, if he thinks it will give her pain. And he is so 
accustomed to thinking of her and treating her as a somewhat 
developed child whom it is necessary for him to take care of, that 
he often, with what he believes to be the best intentions in the 
world, does her great injury. This particular woman was 
such a strange mixture of child and woman, — her peculiar bringing 
up had so dwarfed her self-dependence and retarded her develop 
ment of character, that in many respects she seemed almost a child 
still, although her mental abilities, particularly her judgment in 
matters pertaining to books, were those of an unusually well 
educated and thoughtful woman. Her ignorance of the world 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


45 


and its ways of thinking and doing increased her childlikeness 
If Collquitt had told her these things which • he knew, and put 
them before her in the strongest light, the shock they would have 
given her would probably have been just the thing necessary to 
start into life those dormant traits of character which she would 
surely need. But he was a man, and he loved her, and just then 
she seemed more like a child than usual. So he abruptly turned 
the conversation. 

“ There will be plenty of time for that, dearest, after we get 
settled. We must find a place to live before we do anything 
else.’ 

“ Yes, you are right. I want to get away from here. O. I 
hope you can find a cosy little place where we can be quite at 
home ! How lovely that would be ! ” 

The bright, happy, loving glance she gave him suddenly 
faded, as a new thought came into her mind, into a look so wistful 
that he put his hand under her chin and said, as he kissed her : — 

“ Well, little one, what is it ? ” 

“ I was thinking of her — of your — wife — how lonely and 
forsaken she must feel. Although we are so happy, and I 
would n’t give you up for anything, I can’t help being sorry for 
her.* - ' 

“ Yes, Frances, I am sorry for her, too. I know she thinks I 
have wronged her deeply. But I do not think so. Besides, she 
wronged me in the first place by marrying me when she did n’t 
care for me. It seems to me that that released me from any 
obligation toward her. We do not love each other now, so that 
there is no reason why we should live together any longer. She 
has no right to me if she does not love me, nor I her.” 

A swift, sudden, painful thought darted through the woman’s 
brain. “Perhaps, sometime,” — but she threw it from her, and 
took his head in her arms, kissing it tenderly. 

“And she has her baby, too. That will comfort her,” she 


4 6 


FRANCES • A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


murmured, thinking of the dream that had blessed her that 
morning. 

“ Yes,’ he answered, soberly, his fingers suddenly longing for 
the child’s clinging grasp. For he did not know that it was dead. 


u 


1 





FRANCES A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


47 


CHAPTER V. 

Eva Collquitt took her dead baby back to her former Fall 
River home and buried it beside her father’s newly-made grave 
without letting her husband know of its death. She shut her lips 
proudly together and held counsel only with her own anger. To 
her friends in both Boston and Fall River who looked surprised 
at not seeing him she said simply that they had decided to 
separate. And her manner was such that nobody cared to ask 
more questions. She was known to all her friends as a singularly 
self-poised woman who kept her own counsel and very seldom 
admitted any one to her confidence. She had no intimate friends, 
in the sense of that almost unlimited intimacy over personal and 
inconsequent things in which women are so fond of indulging. 
And when she did admit one of her acquaintance a little further 
than usual into her life, she chose such as would ask no questions 
and tell no tales. Among most of those who knew her she was 
regarded as a rather cold-hearted woman, of great common-sense, 
intelligent, undemonstrative, and egotistic. She was not very 
popular with women, but the strong qualities of heart and mind 
which she possessed were rather apt to impress the other sex 
favorably, and most men who came in contact with her respected 
and admired her, though she seldom inspired any stronger feeling. 

Heretofore she had lived her busy, placid life, which had 
been confined very largely to her home duties, a stranger to any 
great excitement or absorbing interest. She had floated calmly 
along its still current, ignorant of its depths. Before her marriage 
she had lived with her father and his maiden sister, helping her 
aunt with the daintier cares of housekeeping, sewing, taking music 


4 8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


lessons, doing fancy work, going to church on Sunday and teach- 
ing a class in Sunday-school, reading the newspapers and maga- 
zines, and getting a reputation for being a serious-minded girl 
by devoting her attention to biographies, essay literature, and the 
higher class of novels. Since her marriage she had done nearly 
the same things in her new home, but putting upon her baby, after 
it came, much of the time and attention she had formerly spent 
upon embroidery and books. 

She had married Harris Collquitt mainly because he loved 
her. There had been so little demonstrative affection in her life 
— her mother had died when she was very young — that she had 
grown up with that strange, cold crust over all her nature which 
is to be found so often among the descendants of the Puritans. 
She had a will of her own, and so had her father, so that their 
lives were not always quite harmonious. When Collquitt came 
into this quiet, undemonstrative, uneventful, and not always happy 
life, loving her ardently, and importuning her with all the sweet 
pleading of eager love, it warmed her, and perhaps also flattered 
her, into such an entirely new state of feeling that she accepted 
him. She had not intentionally deceived him. 

No woman — except she be one of the kind that allures love 
for the purpose of making it a plaything, that is, the coquette, the 
soul-sister of the prostitute — can stand in the presence of a man 
who loves her and hear him plead for her love without being deeply 
moved — often so deeply moved that only the strongest character 
can keep its footing. 

It was this subtle influence more than any other thing which 
had moved Eva Langley to marry Collquitt. But, besides this, 
she had great respect and admiration for his ability and his char- 
acter, and felt also a warm liking for him. After marriage these 
feelings had developed into that habit-love which is all that many, 
many women ever feel for their partners in conjugal life. 

A woman is a good deal like a cat in her love for a soft, warm 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


49 


corner and a caressing hand. The hand that she is accustomed 
to feel stroking her into nestling, purring contentment is the one 
that she seeks, the one that she imagines is her life, her one 
delight. It is the tragic core of the marriage relation that the 
woman’s ardent love so often does not flame out until the man’s 
begins to cool. If she never develops any further than this habit- 
love, which is satisfied with caresses and a nice, soft corner, but 
which carries within it infinite possibilities of discontent, peevish- 
ness, and jealousy, they may drift along quite comfortably together, 
if they do not happen to strike a snag. But if her deeper love- 
possibilities have been touched, calamity awaits them. Her love 
will awaken slowly, and by the time it reaches that point at which 
it ought to have been when they began their married life, his will 
have subsided into mere affection. 

In the nature of things, this, and all its accompanying wretch- 
edness, and all its consequent corruptions, are inevitable. Love 
cannot thrive unless it be fed on food like to itself, and it will 
soon fall to a temperature too low for love-life if it be forced to 
drink at a fountain any cooler than its own hot heart. Ever since 
there have been marrying and giving in marriage women have 
wept their hearts out because the fire of man’s love, which flamed 
so fiercely at first, so soon dwindled away. They have mourned 
in secret and carried heavy hearts because when their own glad 
love leaned up there were no eager hands stretched out to 
grasp it. 

Are these things inherent in the physical constitutions of 
men and women ? If so, there is no help for it, and love will hide 
always the same heart-rending tragedy it has so long carried under 
its eager face. Possibly the movement toward physical culture 
for women holds for them the hope of a greater happiness than 
they expect it to bring. Perhaps along with the sound nerves, and 
solid muscles, and high vitality, that it secures for them there will 
be also the possibility of beginning the double life with a love 


5 ° 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


already awakened, and intense, and deep, and vital enough to 
prevent the other’s from dying. 

Possibly, too, some adjustment of the moral code to meet the 
hitherto unrecognized physical laws of the race might increase the 
marital happiness of men and women. Moral codes are created 
for the purpose of advancing the welfare of humanity, and if it 
appears that rules of conduct other than those generally adopted 
will make people better and happier, is it not reasonable to say 
that the old way is wrong and the new way is right? At any rate, 
the bitter tears that women have wept and the loads of sorrow 
their hearts have carried — perhaps men have been unhappy, too, 
but, if so, they have not said as much about it and have quicker 
found comfort, caring more to seek relief than to nurse their woe 
— are damning evidence against the present codes of convention- 
ality and morality which teach women constantly the doctrine of 
repression and force them to put upon their hearts a Venus’s 
girdle, of which conventionality must carry the key. 

All of Eva Collquitt’s training, the influence of her Puritan 
descent and of her environments, combined to make her feel 
overwhelmed with horror and shame at her husband’s conduct. 
She felt herself deceived, betrayed, and insulted, and it seemed to 
her that some of the pollution of his wrong-doing had been 
reflected upon herself. In the long night hours, when she lay 
awake thinking about it, she would feel herself discredited in her 
own estimation because she had lain beside him, with her head 
upon his arm, and been content. “To think,” she would say to 
herself, “ that I cared for such a man and believed in him, when 
he was willing to put into my place the first soiled creature that 
he met. Faugh ! Vile, vile ! How vile men are ! ” But her 
feeling that she had been deceived and betrayed was as nothing 
compared to the anger which her husband’s last words had 
aroused. Its fierce flame burned up all her kindly feeling for 
him. And added to this were the sense of injury and the resent- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


51 


ment caused by her baby’s death. In her thought she made him 
responsible for its taking off. In her hours of loneliness, when 
her arms ached for the little burden she had loved so well, she 
would say to herself, with set teeth and clenched fingers, that he 
was her baby’s murderer. And she hated him. From her inmost 
soul she hated him. As the days went by her hate increased. 
For she was much alone, and all her thought was centred on the 
events of that morning when her life had been overturned. If 
she had talked with any one about it and found an escape-valve 
for her passion in words, it would not have sent its roots down so 
deep into her soul. But she did not tell any one, even her maiden 
aunt, who came nearest her confidence, of the secret cause of all 
her trouble. She cherished it in secret, turned it over and over 
in her thought, and with each new examination found new fuel for 
her angry hate. Such constant dwelling upon so exciting a sub- 
ject would doubtless soon have made her insane, if something had 
not happened not long after she returned from her baby’s burial 
to her Boston home. 

That something was a call from Malquam. Her father’s 
death had left her in possession of an income large enough for 
her to live quite comfortably, entirely removed from pecuniary 
embarrassment. She was undecided as yet what she would do, 
and was living alone, in a tentative kind of way, in her fiat in the 
Hotel Dighton. And when Malquam, with his faultless dress 
and his politely cordial manner, walked into her little parlor, she 
was very glad to see him. In the short time that she had known 
him, before her marriage, she had liked him very much. In those 
days he had had a good deal of fascination for her. If he had 
proposed marriage, she would have accepted him with a feeling 
very different from that with which she afterward received 
Collquitt’s wooing. But he had gone away, and had said nothing 
about love, and she had had a conviction that the way she felt 
toward him was wicked, and had suppressed it as soon as pos- 


5 2 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


sible. On the evening of his call she had been feeling unusually 
depressed and lonely, and rather nervous, too, and so welcomed 
him with a half-sad, half-glad recollection of the pleasure she 
formerly had taken in his society. 

They talked for a little while about their former acquaintance, 
and he asked, with much show of interest, concerning all the Fall 
River people whom he had known. Then they spoke about the 
changes there had been in these few years, he sympathized with 
her over her father’s death, and told her something about his own 
life since he had seen her last. But for the purpose he had in 
view, he would have thought it all an abominable bore. At last he 
said : — 

“ You have experienced less change, I imagine, than most of 
us in this time. You have been married and are happy.” 

He was watching her closely with his half-closed eyes, and 
he saw an ironical smile curl the corners of her lips as she briefly 
answered, without looking at him : — 

“ Married — and separated.” 

“ Indeed ! I did not know that.” His tone was gentle and 
sympathizing. He hesitated a moment, and then his voice sank 
a little lower, and became still more gently sympathetic. 

“ You surprise me very much, for I have met your husband a 
few times, — though I did n’t know then that he was your 
husband, — ” 

“ Ah ! You know him ? ” 

There was a hard, metallic ring in her voice, and Malquam, per- 
ceiving it, made a quick, bold choice of the rest of his sentence. 

“ I have met him, as I say, only a few times, and I had 
formed a high opinion of his character. But I must have been 
mistaken in my judgment, for I know that only atrocious conduct 
could have made such a woman as you wish for a separation.” 

Perhaps this first condemnation of her husband that Eva had 
heard would have made in her heart a slight reaction in his favor 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


S3 


and have kept her lips sealed, had she not looked up in time to 
see Malquam’s eyelids rise with their little fluttering motion, 
which gave him the air of feeling a confidential interest in his 
hearer, and to see his eyes, dark and fine and full of meaning, 
rest upon hers. So eloquent were they of sympathy and admira- 
tion, that her own lids fell, and a flush rose to her cheeks. His 
words and his glance gave her a sudden, keen consciousness of 
her wrongs and her loneliness, and for the first time she felt a 
vague desire stirring within her to speak about these things, and 
to have the sympathy of some one who understood her. The old 
fascination was beginning to move her again. As for him, he did 
not quite know what he wanted. Some of the feding he showed 
was genuine ; for he had once felt very tenderly toward this 
woman, and when he came into her presence, and saw that she 
had been suffering deeply, that old feeling, in part, returned. He 
was compassionate, too, and he felt sorry for her, and would have 
been glad to help her. And then, for his own purposes, he wanted 
to find out how much she knew, and how she felt. His plans 
were vague, as yet, but he thought that knowledge of this kind 
would not come amiss. 

Lower still and tenderer was his tone, as he added quickly, 
when her eyes fell : — 

“ Ah, I am right. It touches you too much. You have been 
deeply wronged.” 

The flush on her face deepened, and her hands worked 
nervously in her lap. He leaned toward her and went on : — 

“ Remember, Eva, I am your friend • and if I can help you, I 
will gladly do so.” 

Only once before, years ago, had he called her “ Eva,” and 
the same thrill that ran through her veins then quickened her 
pulses now. She looked at him with a grateful smile. The old 
fascination was triumphant again. 

“ I know you are my friend, and I thank you.” 


54 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


Then the sense of her wrongs and her loneliness returned, 
and the momentarily forgotten anger sprang up again fiercer than 
before. With a sudden, impulsive gesture, she stood up. 

“ Yes, I have been wronged, deeply and vilely wronged.” 

The thought that she could at last tell her wrongs to a sym- 
pathizing friend made them burn in her breast with a deeper 
hotter smart than ever before. 

She was not exactly a handsome woman, but her rather slight 
form was well rounded, and very dainty and trim looking, and she 
had an expressive, patrician face, which, before her trouble, had 
been always placid and gentle in expression. Now it fairly 
glowed with the anger which flushed her cheeks and sparkled in 
her eyes. She had always a rather haughty carriage, but now her 
head, with its heavy, soft, fair hair, was held unusually erect, as 
she stepped rapidly up and down the little room. 

“Yes, vilely wronged. He deceived and insulted me, and 
killed my baby.” 

“ Mrs. Collquitt ! What can you mean ? Is this possible ? ” 

“ O, not directly, of course. It was the result of the excite- 
ment his conduct and his insolent words caused in me. But he is 
responsible, before God, he is responsible ! ” 

“ I see. Yes of course, he is responsible. And he was inso- 
lent to you ? ” 

“Yes; insolent and insulting. He took advantage of my 
absence over my father’s death-bed, and when I came back, he 
taunted me with his relations to this vile creature of the streets, 
and told me — ” 

She hesitated. She could not tell that, — the deepest, bitterest 
blow of all. “He insulted me, his wife, with his talk about her, 
and I hate him for what he did and said ! I hate him ! ” 

She had been pacing up and down the room as she talked, 
and as Malquam looked at her, his pulses stirred, and his 
admiration shone from his eyes. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


55 


“ God ! How like a tiger she looks ! ” he said to himself, “ and 
what a spirit she has ! ” And then it flashed upon him that he could 
not have a better ally for his work of revenge than this woman with 
her hate would be. She kept up her walk, still talking in inter- 
rupted sentences, that gave clear glimpses into her state of mind. 
Malquam sprang from his seat and went toward her, all his being 
moved by the impulse to clasp her in his arms. The raging 
demon that possessed her was twin with his own, and for the 
time she seemed to him the most glorious woman that he had 
ever seen. But a sudden odd remembrance of what he had 
thought her prudish principles checked him, and instinctively he 
stopped and stood respectfully as she passed him. His action 
recalled her to herself, and she sat down again, smiled, and apolo- 
getically said she feared she had been talking too much. 

“ No,” he said, earnestly, “ I am glad, for your own sake, that 
you have told me all this. It will enable me to help you in many 
ways, and I need not assure you that I will respect your confi- 
dence. His conduct was dastardly, beastly, and no one can 
blame you for feeling as you do. It would not be possible for a 
pure, self-respecting, high-spirited woman to feel otherwise. It 
will surely be possible to make him suffer for his knavery, and in 
that I can help you.” 

Soon after he took his leave, and when he said good-bye he 
held her hand closely in his, stroking it with the other, in an ap- 
parently unconscious sympathy. He felt her make a feeble effort 
to withdraw it, and then let it lie, its pulses quivering in his 
grasp. As he went out into the chill night he said to himself, “ A 
woman who can hate like that would love like one of the god- 
desses.” And, presently, “ She will be the very one to help me 
get even with that — ” and a grinding of the teeth took the 
place of an epithet. “ I must come up here again soon.” And 
come again he did very soon, and Eva received him with a keener 
thrill of pleasure than Harris Collquitt’s presence had ever 


56 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


given her. And before he went away he had taken her in his 
arms, and kissed her, and she had put her head upon his shoul- 
der, and her arms about his neck. And, after he was gone, she 
sat very still, her burning face in her hands, her hate for the 
moment forgotten, and a flood of guilty-feeling delight passing 
through her quivering nerves, in wave after wave. At first it 
made her feel a little ashamed, but after a moment, she welcomed 
it and exulted in it because it seemed guilty, and gloried in it be- 
cause the thought came that if her husband knew he would be 
hurt and angered. She seized upon this idea and gloated over it. 
She did not stop to ask herself how, or why, or if it really would 
pain him. The half-formed idea burst upon her mind that in this 
way she could revenge herself, and the instant it occurred to her, 
she threw herself open, body and soul, to the incoming passionate 
.flood. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN, 


57 


CHAPTER VI. 

In the meantime, events had not stood still with Frances and 
Collquitt. One beautiful day, when there had been enough of 
winter still lingering in the air to make it bracing, and enough of 
the warm breath of approaching spring to make it inviting and 
vivifying, Collquitt was finishing up the work of the day in the 
office of the Mirror. His position was that of city editor, and he 
was putting his desk in order, and getting everything into proper 
shape to be taken up by his night assistant, who would come on 
duty an hour later. The day had been a busy one. Half the 
local force of the office were trying to hunt out the perpetrator of 
a mysterious murder, which had absorbed the attention of the 
city for the last week. A score of clews had been eagerly 
snatched at, followed to the end by keen-eyed and sharp-witted 
reporters, and found to be worthless. That day had brought 
more than its usual quota of suggestions, which it had been neces- 
sary to follow with the most cautious manoeuvring. And all but 
one had ended in nothing. One man, who was following a clew 
which Collquitt regarded as the most hopeful of all, had not yet 
returned, and the city editor decided to wait a few minutes. 
“Lowe may show up soon,” he was saying to himself, “and I 
guess I’ll wait around a little while, and see if he’s discovered 
anything.” 

He glanced at his watch, saw that it was not quite five 
o’clock, and thought of Frances waiting for him in the cosy little 
room into which she had just moved. 

“ What’s the use ? ” he went on, turning to get his overcoat. 
“ Lowe may not be back for hours. I’ll go home.” 


5 « 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


There was a quick, firm tread in the corridor, and the man- 
aging editor, with his overcoat thrown back, his hat on the back 
of his head, and a look of excitement on his face, stepped quickly 
into the room. 

“Look here, Collquitt,” he exclaimed, “just see what you 
think of this clew. It’s the right one this time, or I’m no judge.” 

The two men stood talking beside the desk for a few 
minutes, and then Collquitt exclaimed, emphatically : — 

“ He’s the man. There can be no doubt about it this time. 
Everything fits in perfectly. But have you any idea what has 
become of him ? ” 

“ Yes ; everything seems to indicate that he went straight to 
Albany, and is hiding about there somewhere. We must find 
him, and get a confession out of him. Eh, Collquitt ! How does 
that strike you ? ” 

He leaned back against the wall, with his thumbs in the arm- 
holes of his vest, smiling triumphantly. They looked at each 
other, and their faces lighted up and their eyes gleamed with the 
exciting thought of what a stroke of enterprise that would be. 

“ Immense ! ” assented the city editor, warmly. “ But have 
we got anybody cool and cautious enough for such work as that? ” 

“ Yes, we have. You’re just the man for it. There is n’t 
another newspaper man in Boston that I’d consider it worth while 
to send on such a mission. But if anybody can get it, you can, 
and I’d like to have you try. Will you go ? ” 

Collquitt hesitated the briefest possible instant, as an 
anxious and a loving thought for Frances filled his mind, and 
then said : — 

“ I will, Mr. Lossman.” 

“ You’ve got just forty minutes before the train starts. Come 
into my room, and we’ll talk it over a little more, and there’s a 
man you can see on your way to the depot, . from whom you 
can get something.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


59 


Collquitt wrote a note to Frances, and, after ringing up a mes- 
senger boy, went into his superior’s room. When the boy came, 
Collquitt gave him the note, saying : — 

“ Here, my boy, be careful that you don’t lose this letter, and 
don’t go skylarking around the city anywhere before you deliver 
it. Do you understand ? ” 

“ Yessir,” and the boy stowed the note away in his cap for 
safe keeping, and started off. 

At the first corner he saw, down the cross street, another 
messenger boy, between whom and himself there was a -never- 
settled dispute as to which was the “ best feller ” in the matter of 
wrestling. The question was no longer an entirely good-natured 
one, and each attempt to decide it grew a little more acrid. The 
sight of the other boy was too much for him, especially as it was 
a good opportunity to take him at a disadvantage and get the 
better of him. But his calculations miscarried, and a few minutes 
later found him with his head under the other boy’s arm, struggling 
his best to save himself from the ignominy of being spanked. His 
cap fell off and rolled over against the steps of a big building. 
The other boy saw it, changed his mind about the spanking, 
snatched the cap, and, with a mocking “wow-hoo,” fled down the 
street, with the first boy at his heels. Neither of them noticed 
that the letter was left lying beside the steps on the sidewalk. 

When Collquitt’s messenger, after a chase of half a dozen 
blocks, recovered his cap and found the letter missing, he retraced 
his route, and searched the scene of his recent struggle, but found 
no sign of it anywhere. He remembered that while he stood out- 
side the door putting the letter in his cap, the man who gave it to 
him had said something about catching the train and getting back 
as soon as he could, and the other one had replied that it might 
take a week, or more. So he did what he considered a very shrewd 
thing. He loitered around a little while, signed his card himself, 
and went back to the messenger office, feeling guilty, but safe. 


6o 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


While the chase for the cap was taking place, Malquam came 
down the steps from the building and stood on the sidewalk, 
thoughtfully making figures thereon with his cane. He was trying 
to remember what it was he had promised the night before to do 
for Maxie Sarto, a clever little actress who was playing at the 
Museum. She was singing the leading part in a comic opera, and 
her pretty figure and dainty, graceful ways, with just the suspicion 
of naughtiness sometimes peeping through, had taken “ the boys ” 
by storm. Men-about-town, young swells, and would-be mashers 
invari-ably spoke of her by her first name, and each one of them 
strove to give the impression to his masculine friends that he was 
welcomed at her rooms whenever he chose to go there. But most 
of them knew, whatever they tried to make others think, that Jack 
Malquam was the favorite, at least for the present. 

“ The devil ! ” Malquam was impatiently saying to himself ; 
44 1 must have drunk a lot of champagne last night to muddle up 
my memory like this. What the deuce was it, anyway ? A pretty 
reception I’ll get if I go there and confess I forgot. Hello ! 
What’s that ? ” His eyes, vacantly following the movements of 
the end of his walking-stick, had brought up against the letter 
lying there on the sidewalk. He saw that it was a Mirror 
envelope, and as he picked it up he read the address with a thrill- 
ing prescience of unexpected good luck. He hurried back into 
the building, and into his private office, and opened the letter. 
This is what he read : — 

My Beloved. — It has just this moment become necessary for me to go 
to Albany to-night. I have only a few minutes in which to make some 
arrangements and catch the train, and so I will have to go with only this most 
unsatisfactory good-bye. 

It is about that McManus murder case. Without a doubt, we are on the 
right track, and I am going to Albany to see if I can’t find the murderer and 
have a talk with him. If I succeed, and I am sure I shall, it will be a great 
thing for my reputation. 

I may be gone a week, but expect to get back sooner than that. Try not 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 6l 

to be very lonely, sweetheart, while I am gone. I will send you a letter every 
chance I get. Let me know every day — I will write you my address — 
if things are all right with you. I can’t help being anxious about you, and 
if it were not absolutely necessary, I would not go away just now for any 
purpose. I wish I did n’t have to go, dearest, but I must. So an revoir , my 
darling. I will hurry to you the moment I return. And remember that I love 
you, love you, love you. Harris. 

As Malquam read, he grew purple in the face and gritted his 
teeth. When he had finished, he twisted, and tore, and crushed 
the letter, and ground the shreds together between his fingers. 

“ Love her, do you, you damned whelp ! Very happy together 
you’ve been, have you ! Damn you, both ot you, you precious 
pair ! I’ll make you think of something besides billing and 
cooing.” 

As he strode up and down and around the little room his 
rage increased and escaped from between his set teeth in bursts 
of profanity, for his mind was dwelling on that last scene between 
them. But after a minute or two of this he recovered himself, 
copied the address on the envelope into his note-book, and hurried 
out. His plan of revenge had already shaped itself in his mind, 
and he had been waiting and watching for an opportunity of 
opening its work. He did not want to kill Collquitt, and he 
had no desire for an open encounter with him. Such methods 
were too crude to suit him. What he wanted was a mental thumb- 
screw which would keep the object of his rage in constant torture, 
and to which he could now and then give a new turn, and add 
fresh agonies. 

The plan he had outlined was to follow Collquitt like a 
shadow, to put obstacles in the way of whatever he undertook, 
and prevent all his endeavors from succeeding. He wanted to 
visit a paralysis upon the man’s actions and make everything 
he tried to do fall futile from his hands. 

Although this was only a small portion of the revenge he had 
promised himself, and on the thought of which his mind con- 


62 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


stantly fed, it filled all his thoughts as he hurriedly walked up 
Washington Street. They were not very clear or definite thoughts, 
for he was so full of excited hate, and so exultant over the possi- 
bility, which had come so soon, of making his enemy feel the 
weight of his hand, that they staggered and mumbled disjointedly 
through his mind. When he reached a building in which was located 
a detective agency, he had to stop a few minutes in the doorway to 
collect himself and get his manner under control, before going in. 

Malquam was admitted at once to the presence of the head 
of the agency. He was an undersized man, with an oversized 
head, which was bald on the top, and covered on the sides with 
brown, curling -locks. His smooth-shaven face was flushed a little, 
and his blue eyes were small, and weak, and watery. There was 
nothing about his appearance to suggest the successful detective 
that he was, except a certain quiet alertness of manner, and a way 
he had of looking, as the popular phrase puts it, out of the corner 
of his eye, while he appeared to be seeing nothing except what 
was straight in front of him. 

“ Mr. Travens,” Malquam began, “ I’ve a piece of important 
work I’d like to have you do for me.” 

“ I don’t know about it, Mr. Malquam. I’m pretty busy just 
now over this McManus murder case.” 

“ Do this properly and successfully, and I’ll pay you twice as 
much as you can get out of that. I’ve got to have an answer at 
once. Will you do it ? ” 

“ All right. What is it ? ” 

“ Do you know Collquitt, of the Mirror ? ” 

“ By sight, but not personally.” 

“ Well, he goes to-night to Albany, where he thinks he can find 
and interview the murderer of McManus. The Mirror must be 
pretty sure he is there, or it would n’t send away its city editor at 
such a time as this. Can you get hold of the murderer before 
he does ? ” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


63 


“ If he is in Albany, I can find him before Collquitt, or any 
other newspaper man, can turn around.” 

“ Do you think they are on the right track ? ” 

“ Well, a clew I got hold of this afternoon pointed that way,” 
Travens admitted, with visible unwillingness. 

“ Good ! So much the better. What .1 want you to do is to 
steer Collquitt off the track. Get hold of and post the murderer 
before he does. Between you, get him away off. Send him any- 
where over the country on a wild-goose chase. Keep him away 
from Boston for the next three months, if you possibly can. Your 
reward will be the bigger if you do.” 

“ Girl at the bottom of it,” was Travens’ mental comment. 

“ But there’s no time to spare, Mr. Travens. Can you start 
to-night ? The train leaves in fifteen minutes.” 

“ Yes, I can catch it. The sooner I get there the better.” 
And he hurriedly put on his hat and coat. 

“ Good-bye, and good luck to you,” said Malquam, as he 
shook hands with the detective at the foot of the stairs. Travens 
caught a glimpse of such malicious satisfaction in his eyes that 
he said to himself, as he hurried away : — 

“ It must be an unusually severe case of girl this time.” 

On one of the cross streets between Shawmut Avenue and 
Tremont Street, pretty well out from the centre of the city, Coll- 
quitt had found a suite of pleasant rooms, into which Frances had 
just moved. She had spent the day draping curtains, and arrang- 
ing bric-a-brac, and putting in, here and there, deft little touches 
of decoration, and now she was impatiently awaiting Collquitt’s 
appearance. She wanted him to see how pretty the rooms looked, 
to talk it all over with him, and have him help her decide whether 
that easel looked better with or without a scarf of bright silk ; 
whether the cardinal or the purple background was better for 
the statuette ; and whether the portiere seemed more artistically 
arranged if looped back than if left to fall in its own folds. 


6 4 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


With glowing eyes and a pleased face, she surveyed the 
room from a dozen different points of view, moved this, gave a 
little pat to that, and set something else at a different angle. 
And all the time she was listening intently for his step on the 
stairs, and running to the window every three minutes, to see if 
he was coming. They had planned in the morning that he would 
get home as early as he could, they would take a long walk to- 
gether, dine at the Quincy cafe, and then go to the theatre. It 
gave him great pleasure to go to the theatre with Frances, because 
it was all new to her. Until her recent coming to Boston, she had 
not been a half dozen times in her life, and the richly and artisti- 
cally mounted productions, performed by well-drilled companies, 
were to her like a revelation of fairyland. It seemed to her that 
she could never get enough of the theatre, and whenever she 
went, she gave herself up completely to its enjoyment. She 
bathed her mind in it, and all her faculties feasted upon the mimic 
life of the stage. Collquitt liked to watch her during the perform- 
ance, to see with what breathless enjoyment she drank it all in, to 
feel, at exciting passages, her nervous grasp upon his arm, or pres- 
sure upon his hand, and to read in her face and eyes the quick 
response she gave to what was passing upon the stage. But what 
pleased him most was to see how quick were her preceptions, and 
how correct her taste. He had noted from the first that she 
gave quick and ardent response to an artistic touch in the render- 
ing of a line, or a deft bit of stage business, and that her face 
always faded and a pained look came into her eyes if a false note 
were struck in either the lines of the play or an actor’s rendition. 
This gave him pleasure, both because he loved her and was proud 
of her abilities, and because it gave him new proof of his theory, 
that natural, all-around intelligence is a better guide in artistic 
criticism than any amount of knowledge concerning the canons of 
taste and the laws of the art world. 

To-night they were going to see a Gilbert and Sullivan opera, 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


65 


and she was anticipating it with great pleasure. But she wanted 
Harris to see the rooms first, and she began to grow nervous that 
he did not come. At last she reluctantly lighted the gas, and for 
a moment forgot all about her nervousness, anxiety, and im- 
patience in a delighted survey of the room in this new aspect. 
She tried to read, but she had to get up every ten lines and go to 
the window. And finally she threw aside her book and sat down 
by the window to watch and wait. 

It was her first experience with the bitter and trying draught 
which every woman who loved has had to drink since the days 
when Penelope waited and spun, listening and hoping for the 
coming steps of Ulysses. She waited and waited, with her eyes 
fixed on the corner around which she expected him to turn every 
moment. Every time that the bells of a street car jingled into 
hearing and she heard the clatter of hbrses’ hoofs upon the pave- 
ment, hope rose in her heart and she was sure he was on that 
car. She would get her handkerchief ready to wave from the win- 
dow at him, and when it passed and he did not come, she would 
turn her eyes again to the corner, and every second expect to see 
him appear. 

She sat there waiting, and watching, and feeling deeply 
troubled and anxious. It was the first evening she had spent 
without him since they began to love each other. Had some- 
thing happened to him ? Why had he not sent her a note ? 
The tears gathered in her eyes, and she bit her lips to keep 
them back, because she must not have red eyes when he came. 
She would see him soon coming around that corner, his face 
lifted up, looking for her window; or he would jump from the 
next car, and come up the street with that manly stride she 
loved so well. She watched, and watched, until the fascination of 
watching for him, of expecting to see him the next instant, of be- 
ing sure he was about to appear, grew upon her so that she could 
scarcely take her eyes from that one spot. It was like the fasci- 
5 


66 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


nation of the gambler’s surety that he is going to win on the 
next deal. 

So she watched and waited until the streets grew still, the 
horse cars stopped running, and the full moon shone from its 
downward course upon her face, weary and worn with her appre- 
hensions and her long vigil. She felt even surer than she did 
when she first sat down that the next instant might be the one, 
and that she must not take her eyes from that corner, lest they 
might be cheated of the first glimpse of him. 

It was her initiation into the patient sisterhood of watchers. 
Loving women have spent centuries upon centuries just as she 
spent the long, long, anxious, bitter, eager hours of that night. 
Will it be the fate of women through all time to come, as it has 
been through all time past? It has been for them one of the in- 
evitable penalties of love, and one of the bitterest they have had 
to bear. Perhaps, sometime, when they learn that it is better 
to escape suffering, if one can, than to carry an aching heart and 
be a martyr in one’s own eyes, they will also gain the wisdom and 
the strength to cast this cross from their hearts, and with it will 
go many another sorrow which they have found grievous to bear 
and poisonous to their love. 

But Frances knew none of these things, not even that the 
common lot of loving woman had fallen to her share. She sat 
there, watching and wondering, grieved and anxious, until the city 
began to awake, and the signs of morning began to brighten the 
sky. Then, cold, and sad-eyed, and heavy-hearted, she crept 
miserably to bed, and cried herself to sleep. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


67 


CHAPTER VII. 

She did not sleep much. She would awaken with a start, her 
heart thundering in her ears, a vision of Harris, all bleeding and 
ghastly, so real before her eyes that she would cover them with 
her hands to shut it out. Or she would see him struggling with 
and overpowered by some night-rogue, and awaken herself by 
stretching out her arms to his assistance. Each effort to go to 
sleep was followed by some dream more dreadful than any 
previous one, until, at last, she thought she heard him knocking at 
her door, and feebly calling to her to let him in. She sprang from 
her bed, and crying out, “ Yes, darling, I am here,” hurried to 
open the door. She was so sure he was there, so sure she had 
heard his voice, that the bliss which filled her heart during the 
brief moment it took to fly from the bed to the door seemed com- 
pensation enough for the long, anxious night. She opened the 
door with eager eyes and a glowing face, ready to spring into his 
arms. For a long time she remembered the utter desolation 
which fell upon her as she looked out into the dark, empty hall 
as the deepest agony she had ever endured. It was worse than 
that dreadful discovery of her mother’s occupation, even as this 
love was more absorbing and enthralling than that. She closed 
the door softly, and, without a sob or a tear, sank into an easy 
chair and sat there gazing at the closed door in blank, dumb 
misery, until she was blue and shivering with the cold. She 
passed the morning in dull, miserable irresolution, not knowing 
whether to stay in and wait for him or go out and hunt him. At 
last, being a healthy, vigorous kind of girl, she remembered that 
she had had no dinner the night before, and became conscious 


68 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


of the fact that she was hungry and weak from her long fast. So 
she went out and had a hearty breakfast, and found that her heart 
was considerably lightened by the operation of filling her stomach, 
and that her ability to think about the matter had been very 
much increased. She decided to go to the Mirror office and 
inquire about him. The brisk walk down town, through the pure, 
bracing, morning air, enlivened her, and made her spirits rise. Of 
course, it would be all right. Perhaps she would find him at work. 
Very likely he had had to work all night on that horrid murder 
case. Why had n’t she thought of that before, and been sensible 
about it, and gone to bed, and slept all night, like a girl with any 
sense would have done ? The truth was, she had thought of it a 
number of times during her long watch, and had dismissed it every 
time as exceedingly improbable, because she did n’t want to enter- 
tain any idea that would make unlikely his speedy appearance. 
But it is very hard for youth, with its lungs full of pure air, bright 
sunshine all around it, and no craving in its stomach, to take any 
but the most hopeful views. 

And so it was that Frances looked very pretty, with her clear, 
glowing color and bright eyes, as she stepped into the Mirror 
business office. A benevolent-looking old gentleman looked over 
his glasses at her in an inquiring way. 

“ Well, Miss ? ” 

She hesitated, for she had not thought at all about what she 
would say or do. 

“ Is — is Mr. Collquitt in ? ” 

“ I presume so,” — her color rose and a gratified look came 
over her face, — “ but I’ll see.” 

He held a brief conversation through a speaking tube with 
some one on an upper floor, and then leaned over the counter in a 
sympathetic kind of way^ 

“ He’s out of town just now. He went away last night on the six 
o’clock train.” Her countenance fell, and the tears came into her eyes. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


69 


“ Do you know where he went ? ” 

“ No, Miss, I have n’t any idea.” His heart was touched by 
her evident disappointment, and he added, “ But they expect him 
back in a few days.” 

She thanked him, and went away with a heavy heart. 

A few days ! It was as bad as a year ! To youth and love 
separation is simply separation, and offers no difference of kind 
or degree. It may be for a day or a decade, by a mile or a 
hemisphere, — it is separation, and it is unbearable. 

And then — why had n’t he sent her a note ? Perhaps it had 
been necessary for him to go away in a hurry, and he had n’t had 
time. He would send her a telegram or a letter as soon as pos- 
sible. She would hurry home, and stay there, so as not to lose a 
minute in receiving his message. She burst eagerly into her room, 
half expecting to find a telegram or a letter there already. Then 
she went into his room, and lovingly walked about in it, giving 
little feminine pats and touches of arrangement to the various 
articles. 

For the sake of prudence, Collquitt had told the woman of 
whom they rented the rooms that she was his step-sister, and they 
had taken one floor for themselves, he having the back room, and 
she the front suite. The woman had interested herself in their 
affairs and belongings a good deal more than Collquitt liked, and 
he had given her such a reply that she had decided to treat them 
with great reserve and dignity ; or, as she informed her cham- 
bermaid, when detailing the circumstance, “ They would n’t see 
much of her in their rooms, that was sure.” Collquitt had also 
cautioned Frances against any conversation with the woman more 
than was absolutely necessary. 

Frances spent the day in impatient waiting, but no message 
came. Another and another she waited, and still there was not 
a word. And yet another interminable day of suspense, that it 
seemed to her she could never live through ; and on the morning 


7 ° 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


of the fifth she went again to the Mirror office. She looked 
around for the kindly-mannered old gentleman with whom she had 
spoken before, and went timidly to his desk. 

“ Has Mr. Collquitt returned yet?” she asked, and her eyes 
were so wistful and her face so sad that he inwardly wished she 
had gone to some one else for the information. But there was 
only one thing to say, and, much as he “ disliked to hurt a lady’s 
feelings,” — as he often said afterward in relating the story, — it 
had to be said. 

“ No, Miss, he has not.” 

“ But you expected him back by this time ? ” 

He looked at her narrowly an instant. “ Pardon my asking, 
but are you a relative of his ? ” 

Straightforward Frances, taken ‘ completely by surprise, 
blushed to the tips of her ears, and stumblingly answered : — 

“No, — yes, — that is, I am — his step-sister,” and averted 
her eyes lest they might belie her words. He saw her confusion, 
and guessed at once the nature of their relationship. But he 
thought she looked innocent and good, and she was certainly 
very miserable, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he invited her 
into a private room. 

“ I will tell you all we know about Collquitt. We are com- 
pletely mystified, and not a little anxious. As you are his sister, 
you have a right to know all this, and possibly you can give us 
some information that will be of use. Collquitt left here one 
evening last week to go to Albany in order to follow up a clew in 
that McManus murder case. He expected to find the murderer 
and get him to confess. We know that he reached Albany, for 
the next day we received a telegram from him, saying that he was 
on the man’s track and would probably be able to send an inter- 
view with him the next day. That was last Friday, and we have 
heard nothing from him since. We telegraphed to the hotel where 
he stopped, and they answered that he went away from the hotel 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


71 


early Saturday morning, apparently expecting to return, but they 
had seen nothing of him since.’-’ 

“ He has been killed ! ” Frances exclaimed, her eyes wide 
open and her face colorless. 

“ Not so bad as that, we hope, although I won’t conceal from 
you that we fear there has been foul play. We have started an 
investigation and we hope to get at the bottom of the mystery 
before long. If you will leave me your address, I will let you 
know if we discover anything about him.” 

He was anxious to bring the interview to a close, for all 
through it he had been in a state of nervous fear lest she would 
faint, and of apprehension that she was about to cry. And when 
she did neither, he was immensely relieved. As she went out, he 
shook hands sympathetically with her, and said, “ Poor girl ! ” in 
a sad undertone. 

Days passed into weeks, and still there came no news of 
Collquitt. Detectives, police, and friends combined their efforts, 
and worked upon the case diligently, but all they could discover 
was that he had taken a horse and carriage from a livery stable 
that Saturday morning, saying that he would return before even- 
ing, but that he had not come, and they had been able to find no 
trace of the team. 

His mysterious disappearance took the place of the murder 
case in the big headlines of the newspapers, and for a week was 
the principal sensation. Then it dropped out of sight, the people 
who had been conducting the search gave it up, and everybody 
but his personal friends forgot all about it. 

Frances could not understand why he had not written to her 
to explain his sudden departure, nor why he had not sent her a 
letter or a telegram from Albany. Could n’t he have done that 
as well as send a telegram to his paper ? He surely would have 
known how anxious she would be. 

Among the many theories by which the newspapers tried to 


72 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


account for his mysterious disappearance was one connecting a 
woman with the case. A married woman, of good social position 
and some fortune, had disappeared from the suburb of Dorchester 
at the same time. It was shown that Mrs. Andrews — that was 
her name - — and Collquitt had had some acquaintance, and tele- 
grams from Indianapolis and Chicago stated that a couple an- 
swering to their description had passed through those cities, and 
had gone still farther West. This was the view of the mystery 
that was most generally accepted. The very few people who 
knew of his relations with Frances were interested in keeping that 
portion of the case out of the papers, and, consequently, her name 
did not appear at all. It was made known, however, that he had 
just separated from his wife on account of some other woman, and 
that gave additional color to the elopement theory. Malquam, 
for whom all this was turning out much better than he had antici- 
pated, exulted in his good luck, and did all he could to make the 
newspaper men whom he knew — and they were many — think 
that the Mirror had been neatly tricked by one of the most 
trusted members of its staff, and that Collquitt and Mrs. Andrews 
had gone to California. 

Frances saw all this evidence accumulate with a sickening 
heart. She could not make herself quite believe that he had de- 
ceived her like that, and yet, — why had n’t he written to her, — 
let her know, at least by a line or a telegram, about his depart- 
ure ? And she remembered, also, that) one evening, when they 
were talking about his wife, he had said that she had no right to 
him if they no longer loved each other ; and she remembered, too, 
the prescient thrill of grief — “Suppose — ” that had darted 
through her mind, and which she had flung out of her thought rs 
impossible. And now it was no longer a fear of the future, but a 
bold, hard, unyielding question that had to be faced. Had lie 
deceived and deserted her ? 

One morning, when the excitement of the mysterious disap- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


73 


pearance had nearly passed away, as Frances stood before her 
mirror, making her toilet, she stopped suddenly, and a startled, 
amazed face looked back at her from the mirror. The hair-brush 
dropped from her hands and fell to the floor, and she grasped the 
toilet table for support. Then her heart began to beat violently, 
and a deep crimson flush overspread her neck and brow. Was 
that what it meant, all these strange feelings she had had ? She 
sank into a chair, bewildered, and pressed her hands to her head. 
Was that what it was, and what should she do now? She felt 
breathless and suffocated, and she was utterly bewildered by the 
sudden revelation. But bright through it all came the sudden 
recollection of that dream which awakened her on a happy 
morning less than a month ago, when she had felt a blessed babe 
nestling in her arms, and caressing her face, and thrilling her 
whole being with mother-love. And now she knew that the dream 
would come true. 

But on the heels of that knowledge straightway came a pro- 
test. Ought she to bear a fatherless child ? Ought she 
to fasten on another generation the same stain her mother 
had put upon her? She threw herself upon her bed, her burn- 
ing face in her hands. For the first time she dimly real- 
ized how the world looked at her. Faugh! The world was 
right. She was unclean. Could she go on and publish her un- 
cleanness and her disgrace ? If he had not left her, she would 
not have cared. But all alone, she could not do it. She might 
have gone somewhere and started anew, and made friends, and 
lived a decent life, and then nobody would ever have known 
about all this. But with a child it would be impossible. And all 
the time the new-born mother-love was clamoring within her to be 
heard and recognized, but she would not listen to it. No ; she 
could not endure all that disgrace, and isolation, and contempt, 
which she foresaw would be her lot. She, who .loved people 
so much, she would rather die. Yes, that was what she ought 


74 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


to do. She was already disgraced and deserted, and there was no 
more happiness for her. And why should she bring a child into the 
world who would suffer from that disgrace as she had suffered 
Jrom her mother’s ? Did she want a child who would be forced 
to think of her as she had sometimes thought of her mother ? 
No ; she would kill herself. She would do it at once. She would 
not live until night. But, brought face to face with death, she 
drew back, unwilling. She did n’t want to die, after all. She 
had learned that one might survive deep sorrow and intense 
agony, and live to be happier than ever before, and the discovery 
had made her unwilling to leave the world. And still the mother- 
love beat at her heart, and the mother-instinct pleaded for the 
unwitting life that lay wrapped within hers. But she put them 
aside, and had eyes, and ears, and thought only for the future, and 
that dread spectre of her own ruined life. 

Then she remembered something, and she sat up in bed, very 
pale, with clenched hands. Her lips were close set, but inwardly 
she was saying, “ I will do it, I will do it ! ” She remembered a 
girl in that house on Chandler Street, and what she had done 
while Frances was there, and Frances was saying to herself 
that she would do the same thing, and be free again. She sat 
very still, thinking about it, and planning what she would do 
afterward, when, like a blinding, electric flash, again came the 
memory of that dream, and more real than before. Again the 
tiny babe seemed to nestle in her arms, and, as it put its lips 
to her breast and drew life and strength from her life, there 
passed again through all her being that strange thrill of ma- 
ternal ecstacy, and, with a cry, she sprang up and knelt, sobbing, 
beside the bed, murmuring through her tears and sobs, “My 
child, my child ! ” 

One day it occurred to Frances that possibly Harris had for- 
gotten the number of the house to which they had moved, and 
had sent some message to her to the house on Chandler Street. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


75 


She had not been back since the day she left, and she 
had not let them know her address. She felt a disinclination 
to go there, even with the hope of news from Harris to urge 
her on. It seemed as if to enter that door again would be the 
beginning of misery and shame, as if it would be deliberately 
setting her face toward the kind of life that went on under its 
roof. But she did not hesitate long. The possibility of a mes- 
sage from him would have sent her to the world’s end with fly- 
ing feet, and a very few minutes after the idea occurred to her 
she was talking to Mrs. Aldus, only to find her brief hopes 
shattered. 

“ No, child ; I’m sorry, but I haven’t a thing for you. Not 
a telegram, or a letter, or a message of any kind. But there have 
been lots of inquiries about you. Just let me have your address, 
my dear, and you won’t suffer from loneliness any more.” 

Frances turned shudderingly away, with a look of disgust on 
her face. 

“ No, I don’t want those people to know where I am.” 

Mrs. Aldus was a large woman, with bleached hair and a face 
which was beginning to be marred by the hard and brazen 
look of a vicious life. She had really a kindly feeling for the girl, 
and she immediately began to try to repair the mistake she had 
made. Besides, she wanted to conciliate Frances, for she was 
anxious to induce her to become a regular inmate of the house. 
So she made herself kind, and entertaining, and sympathetic, and 
Frances stayed a long time, and told much about herself that Mrs. 
Aldus did not know before. They talked about Collquitt, and 
Frances cried a little, and indignantly refused to entertain Mrs. 
Aldus’ theory that he had intentionally deserted her. But, not- 
withstanding her words of denial, the woman’s arguments made 
their impression and helped to strengthen the growing fear that 
was in her heart. But, altogether, she enjoyed her visit, and went 
away feeling pleased and cheered. 


76 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


Hardly had she reached her own home again when a 
messenger entered Malquam’s office and placed this note before 
him : — 

“ Frances has been here, and I have had a long talk with her. Come as 
soon as you can.” 

And early that evening Malquam was in possession of all the 
facts about Frances that Mrs. Aldus had learned. They were 
mainly that story of her mother's life which she had already told 
to Collquitt. And Malquam, with his knowledge of Eva’s family, 
immediately saw that they were cousins. 

“Jack, what did you do with Frances’ letter?” Mrs. Aldus 
said to him during their conversation. 

“ I am keeping it until I get an opportunity to use it to good 
effect.” 

“ But won’t you tell me what you intend to do with it ? ” 

“ I expect to hasten the day of her return to your hospitable 
roof.” 

“ Good i I hope you’ll succeed, and not be very long about 
it. I want to get Frances back. She attracts men wonderfully, 
although she’s not very pretty. You’ve no idea how many people 
have asked about her, although she never had much to say to 
more than two or three of them, and always made them under- 
stand that she was a decent cat. She’d be a mighty good card 
if I could get her again. But she’ll have to be convinced first 
that Collquitt has cast her off. And then loneliness will send her 
back before long. For I know she does n’t know a soul in the 
city but the people she met here. By the way, I wonder how 
Collquitt ever happened to send a letter to her here. He must 
have forgotten that she had moved. But what a fool he was ! I 
really thought he had more sense.” 

“ I guess he had forgotten me,” was Malquam’s dry 
rejoinder. 

Day after day passed on, and Frances led her lonely life in 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


77 


her pretty little suite. She saw no one, and, indeed, knew no one 
whom she could see. Her loneliness pressed upon her like a 
contracting sphere. Her trouble and her isolation told upon her, 
and lines of weariness appeared in her fresh young face, and 
hollow circles about her eyes. She held on tentatively, not quite 
knowing what to do, and hoping against hope that Collquitt might 
come back or, perhaps, write to her. 

She had met the elderly gentleman from the Mirror office on 
the street one day, and had exchanged a few words with him about 
Collquitt, and at another time he had sent her a note telling her 
that the search had been given up. That, her visit to Mrs. Aldus, 
and the occasional attempts of her landlady to get on a social 
footing with her were the sum total of a month’s social inter- 
course. And she was lonely, unutterably lonely, lonelier even 
than she had been during her first weeks in Boston, for since then 
she had known the pleasure of perfect companionship, and its loss 
brought a keener agony. She tried to read, but she was too sad, 
and troubled, and anxious to be able to find much distraction in 
books, although ordinarily they were her chief source of pleasure. 
She was a great reader, and Collquitt had initiated her into the 
delights of the Public Library. Her reading was of a different 
class from that which women generally prefer. She liked 
sociologic works, and scientific treatises that had a human interest 
in subject and motive, and the higher class of novels, particularly 
those having a philosophic or sociologic tendency. These were 
her favorite subjects, though she also read history, and biography, 
and poetry. The mental community of interest between her and 
Collquitt was what had bound them together in such complete 
companionship. She knew absolutely nothing of the world, but 
a great deal about books, while he, though he had been a good 
deal of a reader, too, — as much, indeed, as a busy man can be, — 
knew a great deal more about the world, but less about books, 
than she. So, having similar tastes and intellectual tendencies, 


7 8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


their widely different wells of experience and knowledge made 
their hours of conversation an unceasing source of pleasure. 

And now, suddenly deprived of all this, Frances lost all 
pleasure in her former occupations, because, when she tried to 
resume them, they brought sad memories, and made her misery 
keener and deeper than before. 

One evening, as she sat listlessly holding her head in her 
hands, and trying to decide what she would do, Malquam came. 
Frances hesitated about seeing him, for she remembered, with a 
keen sense of shame, that made her cheeks burn, their last inter- 
view, and the dreadful name he had called her. She was afraid of 
him, too, and feared that he had come for no good purpose. Still, 
possibly, it was not so, and she felt very curious to know why he 
had come. And she was so dreadfully lonely and miserable that 
even a call from Malquam, whom she so deeply detested, would 
be almost welcome, if only she could make him keep his distance. 
So she asked her landlady to leave her door open, and taking the 
precaution to keep her own ajar, she had Malquam come up to her 
pretty parlor. As always, he was faultlessly dressed and elegantly 
correct in his manners. He was quiet and respectful, with a touch 
of sympathy in his tone and manner. He saw at once that she 
was afraid of him, for poor Frances was too much of a child in 
worldly wisdom to be able to conceal anything, and lie made his 
manner even more deferential and respectfully sympathetic. 

He talked with her a little while on commonplace things, and 
as he talked, and saw her, under the influence of his presence, 
becoming calmer and more trustful, the wish to possess her again 
burned in his veins like fire. But he knew that it would not do to 
let her even guess his feeling, and so he controlled himself, and 
did not try even to touch her hand. At last he spoke of Collquitt. 

“ For your sake, Frances, I am sorry, of course, that this thing 
has happened. That is, I am sorry you have suffered so much by 
it; but, really, I think it is a good thing for you that it has come 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


79 


about so soon. He would have left you sooner or later, and, in 
my opinion, the sooner you are rid of such a man as he is the 
better. He deserted his wife when he took up with you, — left 
her under the most brutal circumstances, when their baby was 
dying, and never went near her again. He has put you into a 
compromising situation, and now has left you to make the best of 
it. In the same way, he will leave the woman he has gone off 
with now after he has stayed with her a few weeks. It is his old 
trick.” 

Frances turned toward him a pained, protesting face. Two 
weeks before she would have ordered out of her presence any one 
daring to speak in that way of Harris. But evidence had so piled 
up against him that she was almost forced to believe. 

“ I know that is unpleasant for you to hear,” he went on, 
“ but it is a great deal better for you to recognize the facts as they 
are, and end the suspense in which I know you have been living. 
I am not forgetful of your happiness, Frances, even if you did cast 
me off, and for that reason I have come to show you some evi- 
dence, which, if you are the reasonable .woman I think you are, 
will settle all your doubts at once. But before I show it to you, 
I want to ask you if you know who Collquitt’s wife is.” 

Malquam hazarded this question, believing that in all prob- 
ability Collquitt had not told Frances anything about her, although 
he must have known their relationship. If he was right, he 
thought the idea that Collquitt had been guilty of double-dealing 
with her would be an efficient help in causing her to lose faith in 
him. She looked at him inquiringly, and said : — 

“No; I don’t know anything about her.” 

“ She is your cousin.” 

Frances started, turned ashy pale, and gasped : — 

“ My cousin ! ” She could hardly have been more astounded 
if the figure of her cousin had risen through the floor. 

“ Yes, your cousin ; the daughter of your mother’s sister.” 


8o 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ Eva ! ” 

“Yes, Eva Langley, who has reason to regret the day when 
she became Eva Collquitt. I did not suppose that Collquitt had 
had the frankness to tell you this.” 

Frances’ brain seemed reeling. He knew all this, and he had 
not told her ! She hardly heard the words Malquam spoke as he 
handed her a folded bit of paper. 

“ But what I came for,” he was saying, “ was to show you this 
letter. It was found in the room of Mrs. Andrews after her flight, 
and only yesterday came into my possession through a mutual 
friend. It shows Collquitt’s guilt beyond a doubt, and as a 
measure of kindness, I think, I ought to show it to you.” 

She took the letter in a dazed way, and sat down beside the 
table to read it. At first her only thought was that the message 
came from him, and she held it close in her hands, as something 
which his hands had sent. It was only a few lines, and it was 
dated in Albany immediately after his arrival there. Her eyes 
rapidly devoured the page, and this was what they saw : — 

My Darling. — I am berating my stupidity because I did not bring you 
with me. There was not much time, but I think there would have been 
enough for you to meet me at the depot. If I have to stay here more than 
a day or two, it would be delightful for you to come on and meet me here. I 
will telegraph you directions how to come as soon as I find out whether I have 
to stay here or go elsewhere, and in the meantime I shall enjoy the thought 
that our separation will be very brief, and, dearest, I shall live in the thought 
of the delightful trip we shall have together. 

In much haste and greatest love, your own, Harris. 

Frances read the note through twice before she quite realized 
what it meant. Then, with a feeling that all things were slipping 
away from her, she handed it back to him, saying, very quietly and 
wearily : — 

“ I would like to be alone now. It was a well-intentioned 
kindness for you to come and show this to me, and I must thank 
you.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


8 


It was not the answer he expected, but it pleased him, and as 
he said good night he added : — 

“ And remember that I want to be your friend, Frances, even 
if you are not mine, and I hope you will call on me if at any time 
I can be of service.” 

He walked briskly down town, feeling much elated, and before 
he had reached the stage door of the Museum he had formed 
a plan by which he hoped, in a few months, to drive Frances into 
the ranks of prostitution, make her dependent upon him, and then 
let Collquitt see her in her degradation. 

Abnormally villainous, do you think him ? And yet three- 
fourths of the people who possess intellectual development in the 
same degree have within them possibilities of wickedness, crime, 
villainy, — whatever you choose to call his moral crookedness, — 
quite equal to his. They may have greater self-control, greater 
fear of consequences, less daring in the taking of risks, less temp- 
tation — or coercion — in their circumstances; but their innate 
tendency to evil is ho less than his. Indeed, I am afraid that 
none of us can safely play the Pharisee. If we have not wickedness 
of one kind in our hearts, we have of another, and who shall say 
whether this or that sinful tendency, or thought, or act, is the 
worse ? 

As for Malquam, he was simply a proud, passionate man, 
whose natural imperiousness cf temper and bull-dog tenacity of 
purpose had been increased by his unfailing success. His sensual 
desires had been thwarted by a woman whom he considered his 
rightful conquest, and he had been incensed, enraged, to the last 
degree by the successful rival for her love, and in the white heat 
of his rage he had determined to revenge himself upon both of 
them, to humble them both to his will, and now he was setting 
himself to his task, ready to sacrifice to his scheme everything that 
came in his way. He went about it with the same cool-blooded 
determination, the same long-sighted scheming, the same quickness 
6 


82 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


to see and lay hold of fortuitous circumstances that had charac- 
terized his financial career. “ If you want to succeed, you can’t 
afford to be squeamish about allies or methods,” was his motto in 
all things, and he held that to succeed in whatever one undertakes 
is the most desirable thing in life. No, he was not an unusual 
villain at all, but, rather, a very average kind of man, and different 
mainly from those less wicked only by his masterful desire and 
determination to get whatever he reached for, no matter what he 
might trample on and turn over in his effort. 

At any rate, it was a smiling, and a handsome, and a prosper- 
ous looking man who entered the Museum’s stage door and picked 
his way through the dismal chaos until he came upon Maxie Sarto 
hurrying to her dressing-room. She wafted him a kiss with dainty 
finger tips and a graceful arm, and listened eagerly to a proposition 
for a charming little supper which they and two others — men- 
about-town — were to have after the performance was over. 

“ You dear boy ! ” she exclaimed, enthusiastically, “ it will be 
perfectly lovely ! You do think of the most charming things ! ” 

“ The thrifty minx ! ” he said to himself, as he went out on 
the street again. “ She’s simply playing me, and all the rest of us, 
for all we’re worth. Gad ! How neatly she does it, too ! It’s all 
right, though ! If any of us imagine it’s anything but bargain and 
sale, it’s time we had our eye-teeth cut. And it’s worth something 
to have them cut by such a dainty little minx as she is.” 

He walked around to the front, and went in for a few minutes, 
watching Maxie as she sang, and frolicked, and pirouetted, and 
posed through part of an act. The house was crowded, a large 
proportion of the audience being women. “ And nine-tenths of 
them have come to see Maxie,” he said to an acquaintance who 
came up and remarked about the number of ladies present. “They 
have come solely to see her, and they will go home and practise 
her dancing steps and her poses before their mirrors, and imitate 
her tricks of voice and manner, and copy her dresses and her bon- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


83 


nets. But they would draw aside if they were to pass her in the 
street, and they would shut their doors in her face if she went to 
them for any purpose, rather than let her come into the presence 
of their daughters.” 

Then he went away to hunt up the other parties to the supper. 

Frances sat for a long time with her face in her hands and 
her head bowed upon the table. When, at last, she arose, her face 
was so drawn and wearied-looking, the lines so deep, and the eyes 
so hollow, she appeared ten years older. She had given up the 
last vestige of hope that Harris would return or try to seek her 
again. He had left her, and she must accept her position as a 
deserted woman. She felt so sore and numb that she hardly knew 
whether or not she still loved him. She was not angry with 
him, but she was deeply hurt and grieved. If he no longer 
loved her, it was all right that he should leave her. She had 
learned that philosophy from him, and she accepted it without 
a question. But why had he not told her so frankly and manfully, 
instead of slinking away like this ? That hurt her almost as much 
as his going. But, notwithstanding her misery, she was not entirely 
cast down. As she sat there with bowed head, gradually there 
came up through her agony the remembrance of the little life 
slowly developing within her own, and it brought with it soothing 
and comfort. And when, at last, she lifted her head, all the 
strength of her loving nature had fastened itself upon that little 
germ of possible life, and all other hope of happiness had passed 
away from her. 

One week, two weeks, three weeks, went by, dull, lonely, 
monotonous, almost to the verge of endurance. During all that 
time she had seen no one but her lawyer, who had sent for her 
once to talk with her about a portion of her money, by far the 
larger portion, too, which her mother had invested a year or more 
previously in a railroad that had recently been built through the 
little towns that were springing up rapidly along the beach, 


8 4 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


north of the city. He had heard a rumor that another road was 
to be built, which would tap this at its most important points, 
and possibly cripple it. Hitherto, it had been good paying 
property, and he wanted to know if she had any instructions as 
to what he should do about it. She told him to use his own 
judgment, that she knew nothing whatever about such things, 
and had no friends with whom she could advise. Of the re- 
mainder of her money, part was invested in a railroad running 
between Chicago and St. Louis, and the remainder in two houses, 
— neat little residences, — in Jamaica Plain. This brief inter- 
view with her lawyer and an occasional word passed with her 
landlady were the sole breaks in her solitude in all that time. 
Then, one evening an astonishing thing happened : two men 
called upon her ; the next evening, there were three more ; the 
third, one came alone ; and on the next, there were four. They 
were all men whom she had seen at the house on Chandler 
Street. She was glad to see them, and welcomed them cordially, 
though she had almost forgotten all but one or two. Each even- 
ing they were a little breezy and forward at first, but her grace- 
ful, half-shy courtesy and modest manners held them in check, 
and each evening, after an hour or two of conversation, which she 
greatly enjoyed, they went away, bidding her good-night with re- 
spectful courtesy. Once, one young man said something in a 
bold way that was rather risky, and she, thinking it was an over- 
sight, and that he had forgotten that he was not in that other 
house, passed it by without seeming to have heard it. She felt 
that he would be embarrassed by the slip of his tongue, and that 
she ought not to add to his confusion by any show of offence or 
annoyance. She did not know that every man in the party was 
watching her narrowly to see if she would smile or give to the 
remark a reply in kind, and that they took the cue for their 
behavior from the way in which she treated it. 

On the fifth day Mrs. Aldus came. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


85 


“Well, Frances,” she said, when she was almost ready to 
go, “haven’t you hid yourself here about long enough? I know 
you must get dreadfully lonely. With your fondness for society, I 
don’t see how you have endured it. You’ve had some callers this 
week, haven’t you? Just let people know where you are, and 
you’ll have no reason to be lonely. Don’t you think you’d better 
come back to my house again ? You could do just as you did be- 
fore, you know, — stay in your mother’s room as much as you liked, 
and come in the parlor whenever you felt like it. I would really 
like to have you, and I’m sure it would be so much better for 
you. You’ll go crazy, and lose all your beauty, too, if you insist 
on shutting yourself up like this much longer. Think it over, my 
dear, and we’ll talk about it again in a few days.” 

When she had gone Frances stood alone in the middle of 
the room, her face burning with shame. This was what it all 
meant, then, the men’s visits and Mrs. Aldus’ call, — they wanted to 
induce her to go back there, and go into that dreadful house and 
be one of them. She tingled from head to foot with shame and in- 
dignation and with anger with herself because she had not under- 
stood before. And yet, and yet, — she felt that if it were not for 
that little life she might do this. She had been deceived and de- 
serted, and from sheer loneliness, and isolation, and ignorance of 
what to do, or where to go to break out of this dreadful solitude 
that surrounded her, possibly she might have gone but for this. 
But, no ; she could not now. She would live for that little thing 
that was becoming so much to her, and, for its sake, she would 
endure and keep herself without reproach. 

While she stood there thinking there was a rap at the door. 
She opened it, and there was her landlady, severe and reproving, 
the picture of outraged propriety. The woman stepped inside, and 
stood there, grim and angular. 

“Miss Hawthort,” she began, “there’s been about enough of 
this. I’m not used to such goings-on in my house.” 


86 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ Why, what do you mean ? ” 

“ O, yes, very innocent, are n’t you ? I begin to doubt 
whether this man that came here with you and turned up missing 
so sudden was your brother. I doubt it, I tell you. You’ve kept 
things mighty well covered up, have n’t you ? But all these men 
running here this week has been a little too much. It shows what 
you are too plain. And now this thing that’s been to see you, with 
the bleached head and the bold face — if you have such 
friends as that, you can’t receive them here. I’d like to have your 
rooms just as soon as possible.” 

“ Very well. You can have them to-morrow.” 

And Frances shut the door and began packing her trunks. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


87 


CHAPTER VIII. 

During those spring months Malquam was much absorbed in 
his electric-light scheme. His idea was that a company might be 
formed which could secure from each of the important cities of 
the country the monopoly of putting electric lights in its streets. 
He was very sure that by the proper manipulation of aldermanic 
boards the franchises could be secured for a term of, at least, 
twenty-five years with a moderate outlay. He had an idea, too,, 
that in the same way the price of the light could be fixed in ad- 
vance at a figure high enough to warrant enormous dividends. 
He was enthusiastic over the enterprise, but he had great diffi- 
culty in making Boston capitalists look at it from his point of 
view. He held meeting after meeting with little groups of 
heavy men, but at the time of Collquitt’s disappearance he was 
no further along than he had been three months before. The day 
after Collquitt’s departure for Albany Malquam had an appoint- 
ment with half a dozen large capitalists, to whom he was to present 
his idea again. They were all men with whom he had talked 
already and who had been more or less favorably impressed, and 
he hoped that he would at last be able to convince them that the 
scheme was practicable. He walked briskly along the street on 
his way to the office of one of the men, where the meeting was to 
be held. The business suit in which he was clothed was guiltless 
of spot or dust, perfect in fit, and costly in fabric. A dwarf rose, 
half-blown, bloomed in his button-hole. The silk tile which sur- 
mounted his dark, handsome face added height and gave distinc- 
tion to his rather stocky frame. As he passed the messenger 
office he remembered finding the lost letter the day before, and 


88 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


said to himself, “ That was done by some careless messenger. It 
might be a good plan to profit by his carelessness.” He looked at 
his watch. It was exactly the hour for the meeting. He hesi- 
tated barely a second and then went into the office. 

“ You had a call yesterday afternoon from the Mirror office 

for a boy to go to No. 25 on Street ? ” 

The clerk looked over the tickets and replied : — 

“ Yes. Was* the work done satisfactorily? ” 

“ The message was delivered ? ” 

“ Yes. Here is the ticket, properly signed, as you see.” 

“ I see. Just put the boy’s number on this card of mine, 
please, and the next call you get from my office send him. He is 
an honest, worthy, little fellow, and I would particularly like to 
have him for some messages I shall want to send to-morrow fore- 
noon. I will be obliged to you if you will kindly remember to 
send him if he is in.” And Malquam made an inward note of 
the number the clerk wrote on the card. 

Then he hurried to his appointment, and found the half dozen 
capitalists, each one of whom counted his wealth by the million, 
waiting for him. They gathered around the big office table which 
stood in the middle of the room and listened attentively to Mal- 
quam’s low, measured tones as he explained and dwelt upon the 
plan. He gave them the figures for the cost of the plant in each 
city. He stated the estimated minimum at which, from the inves- 
tigation and feeling he had already done, he believed the price of 
the light could be set. He explained that in all probability the ex- 
clusive privilege could be got in each city for a small expenditure. 
Then he set the figures together, and showed them the handsome 
profit which would inevitably result, a percentage far beyond that 
yielded by any investment of the millions represented by the half 
dozen faces around the board. 

Malquam leaned back in his chair and eagerly scanned the 
countenances. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


89 

“ There is the scheme, gentlemen. What do you think 
of it?” 

One objected that the demand for electric street lighting was 
not sufficiently general to make it practicable. 

“ The basis for a large portion of the profits lies in your 
objection,” rejoined Malquam. “ People do not understand what 
a future there is for the electric light. In five years it will be a 
dangerous rival of the gas companies, and in ten it will be con- 
quering them on their own ground. Just now, while nobody 
believes it of much general importance, is the time to take it up. 
Aldermanic boards will give away che exclusive privilege for a 
trifle. Wait a few years, until the people will have begun to con- 
sider the light a necessity, and the franchise will cost five times as 
much as now. And again, just now, before there is much general 
knowledge about the light, it will be possible to set our figures 
away beyond anything which could be done a few years hence. 
In taking hold of it right now, before there is a general demand 
for the light in streets, is exactly where our surety lies.” 

Several of the men were inclined to favor the idea, but they 
all wanted more definite knowledge about the probable cost of 
franchises, and about several other factors in the scheme, before 
they would definitely give it their approval. They discussed it for 
two hours, turning it over and over, and viewing it in all its phases 
and probabilities. Then three of them told Malquam that they 
considered it a very promising enterprise, and that if he would get 
the information which would favorably decide three or four mooted 
points, they would be three of a company of ten to enter upon it 
at once. 

Malquam was much elated by the afternoon’s success. He 
had enthusiastic confidence in his plan, and thoroughly believed 
that it would make him a rich man, and give him a reputation as a 
financier which would open the way to other and more brilliant 
conquests in the financial world. With his enterprise approved by 


9 ° 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


those three men, he felt sure he could easily find the remaining 
seven. As he stepped out into the street again he said to himself 
that now it would be plain sailing. 

But the electric-light scheme was not the only one that 
received his attention during those spring months. The North 
Shore Short Line Railroad was the product of his brain. Very 
soon after he learned that the bulk of Frances’ money was invested 
in the North Shore Railroad he took a trip over the road, noted 
how rapidly the little towns and residences were springing up along 
its line, investigated the rise in value of real estate, made a mental 
comment of the fact that the road was unnecessarily circuitous, 
and that it did not touch several points which, by reason of their 
natural advantages, would make excellent town sites. He studied 
the matter over for several days, and then laid his plan before 
three men of moderate fortune whom he knew. He spread out 
before them a map of all that portion of the shore from Boston to 
Lynn. Then with his pencil he drew the line of his proposed 
route. 

“ Do you see ? By this line the distance to Lynn can be 
made in twenty minutes less time than by the North Shore road. 
There are four points on that road that we need not touch at all, 
because there is not the slightest prospect that they will grow any 
larger than they are now, without a good deal of coddling, for the 
next two or three years. But at this point, and here, and here, 
and then over here, we will tap them, and by giving better service 
and quicker time we can draw off all their custom. Then here 
on this slope, and here, beside this stretch of beach, are splendid 
sites for new towns. Here on this bluff, and also over here, are 
fine situations for summer villas. The land can all be bought now 
at reasonable figures, and if held for six months or a year it will 
double in value, even by the acre. But, in my opinion, it would 
be better to parcel it out in town lots.” 

The men were all familiar with the rapid development of that 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 91 

district, and as they all believed it had a promising future, they 
were impressed at once with his scheme. 

“ But,” objected one, “ the one obstacle that makes me doubt- 
ful is that North Shore road. You see, they are in the field 
ahead of us, the company is in good condition, and their compe- 
tition is to be feared.” 

Malquam smiled lazily, slowly lifted his lids, and looked at 
the objector with amused, indulgent eyes. 

“ My dear sir, that road will be in our possession inside of a 
year.” 

The men all started and looked at him sharply. They had 
not thought of that sequel. 

“ I took a trip over the road the other day, and it’s badly 
managed. The trains are slow, and they are not run with the 
proper regard for public convenience. And the cars are old- 
fashioned, uncomfortable, and dirty. The distance by our line is 
shortened considerably, except for these first towns, and by run- 
ning at a fair speed we can leave them away behind. Good 
service and efficient management will do the rest, and in three 
months’ time we’ll have the biggest portion of their custom. And 
in six months,” and Malquam leaned forward, speaking slowly and 
impressively, and emphasizing each word by tapping an extended 
finger on the other hand, “their stock will tumble to par and 
below. Then we will buy a controlling interest in the road, and 
we’ll cave it in until its stockholders are glad to sell at any price. 
We will get it entirely in our hands, consolidate it with our new 
line, renovate it, build up those backward places along its track, 
and make the two roads complementary to each other. Even if 
we don’t accomplish that result this season, we can next. It will 
be inevitable. And in the meantime there are the town sites 
and residence lots, which would return a pretty figure.” 

A little more argument and presentation of facts, and an 
exhibit of figures showing the rise in real estate values all along 


9 2 


FRANCES ; A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


the shore during the last three years, convinced the men that he 
was right. A few others were interested in the scheme, and in 
a week the North Shore Short Line Railroad Company had been 
organized. In another week work on the new road was begun, 
and it was then pushed so rapidly that by the beginning of June 
the road was open. 

The result was much as Malquam had predicted. The rolling 
stock on the Short Line was new, comfortable, even elegant, its 
trains were swifter and more frequent than those of the old road, 
its service was excellent, and the delighted public rushed to its 
support even sooner than its projector had expected. The leading 
stockholders in the North Shore road foresaw disaster, unless they 
should put more money in the road and fight a more determined 
battle than they believed its condition and prospects would 
warrant. So they quietly tried to sell. Their action became 
known at once, and spread panic among all the big and little 
stockholders who had been looking on with concern. The result 
was a frantic scramble to unload before they should get hurt. A 
few kept back, believing that the stock would be bought up, the 
company reorganized, and the road again become a paying 
property. But the movement to sell was so sudden and so frantic 
that the stock immediately fell away below par, and every one was 
afraid to touch it. By the middle of July it was all on the market, 
with no buyers. But one fine day, by preconcerted action, a 
majority of it was picked up by the Short Line Company. Then 
began a systematic squeezing of the road. In a month's time half 
the trains had been taken off, and the remainder were run in 
a hap-hazard way that took no account of public safety or con- 
venience. People grew afraid of accidents, and nobody rode on 
it except the few who could not get to and from their homes on 
the other line. Slowly downward its quotations rolled, until, even 
before the season was over, the Short Line Company had gathered 
in all the stock at its own figures. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


93 


Among those who had held back at the time of the first flurry 
was Albert Lawton, Frances’ lawyer. He was not much of a 
financier, but Frances’ mother, whose own shrewd business head 
had been all the guide or adviser she needed in her ventures, had 
occasionally engaged him merely to look after the legal questions 
pertaining to her affairs. He had been the executor of her estate, 
also, and Frances had left all her interests in his hands, because 
she knew nothing about business matters, and thought that if her 
mother had confidence in him, she could not do better than let him 
take charge of her investments. 

When Lawton first heard of the Short Line project and 
received Frances’ permission to use his own judgment he did not 
believe that it would amount to much, and paid but little attention 
to the matter. Almost before he knew that anything unusual was 
taking place the flurry had begun, and everybody was scrambling 
to sell. He thought it a pity to sacrifice good property in that 
way, believed it a mere momentary scare, and was quite sure that 
there would be a reaction soon. So he held on, and in September 
he sold Frances’ stock for a few hundred dollars. 

Eva Collquitt still occupied her suite in the Dighton Hotel. 
She sat in her little parlor one evening, embroidering a mantel 
lambrequin, when the door suddenly opened and Malquam stood 
before her. She sprang up with a joyful cry of welcome, love 
shining in her eyes and a sudden color glowing in her cheeks. 
He put his arms about her and felt her trembling in his clasp and 
her breath coming quick and short as she kissed his eyes, and 
brow, and lips. 

“ Love, love, why did you stay away so long ? I thought you 
were never coming back.” 

He smiled at her, took her face between his hands, and kissed 
her lips again and again. 

“ O, no, you did n’t ! I’m sure you never thought that ! And it’s 
only been a week, my pet. I’ve been very busy, too. Have just 


94 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


got in to-day from Philadelphia, where I’ve been for three days, 
and I’m awfully tired.” 

“Oh! And here I’m complaining about you. What a 
thoughtless, selfish creature I am ! Sit down in this arm-chair 
and let me make you comfortable.” 

She bestowed him in a big easy-chair, drew up another for 
him to put his feet on, got a cigar from a silver cigar-holder which 
stood on her writing-desk, lighted a match for him, and then, while 
they talked, stood beside him, making little caressing pats, and 
strokes, and touches upon his hair, and forehead, and cheeks, and 
moustache, until he looked up at her with passionate eyes and drew 
her down upon his lap. 

“Darling, I have been thinking of something this week,” — 
she spoke diffidently, — “and I want to ask you about it.” 

“ Well, little one, what is it ? ” he asked, seeing that she 
hesitated. 

“ It is — it is — the same thing we’ve talked about before.” 
She put her arms about his neck and dropped her head on his 
shoulder and spoke rapidly. “ I wish we might be married.” 

He made a movement of annoyance and ejaculated, “Damn 
it, Eva, I thought we’d settled that ! ” 

She sprang up with a look of sorrow and alarm on her face. 

“ There, now, I’ve offended you again, and I’ve said so often 
that I never would annoy you another time in that way ! Darling 
love, I’m so sorry! Forgive me, dearest, once more, and I surely 
will never speak of it again ! ” 

There were sobs in her voice and the tears were dropping 
slowly down her cheeks as she sank upon an ottoman beside him 
and buried her face against his knee. He decided to give her 
a lesson that she would remember. So he shook her off, got up, 
took a turn or two about the room, and stood looking out of the 
window. She waited five minutes, suppressing her sobs and drying 
her tears. But he still stood with his back to her. Then the 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


95 


mighty love in her heart conquered everything else, and she went 
to him, and taking up one hand pressed it against her lips and 
cheeks, as she said : — 

“ I promise you, truly, Jack; forgive me this time, and it will 
never happen again. Only love me, Jack, only love me, in any 
way you like. It is all I ask, but I can’t live without it.” 

He took her again in his arms and kissed her tenderly. 

“ There, there, Eva ! of course, I will love you. How can I 
help it ? But you know there are reasons why it is not best for us 
to marry; and, sweetheart, is n’t this very incident proof that I am 
right ? If we were married you would not be sorry, as you are 
now, when you offended me ; then we would quarrel, and that 
would be death to our love. We love each other, dearest, and 
what does anything else matter ? ” 

He pressed his lips to hers, and in the magic of their touch 
she forgot everything but her love, and felt that to keep his she 
would do anything he might ask. 

“ You know, pet,” he went on when they were seated again, 
“ that if you get a divorce from Collquitt you will leave him free 
to marry that girl. If he marries her without your getting a 
divorce, the way is easy to punish him as he deserves. If he does 
not marry her, he will tire of her soon and in all probability come 
back to you, and then will be the day of your revenge. After 
you have humiliated him, entangled him, and put him into a com- 
promising and degrading situation, as you easily can do, then the 
way will be clear for us to marry. Does n’t your own common 
sense, that I’ve complimented you on so often, tell you the same 
thing ? ” 

She drew his arm about her waist and, with a long sigh, 
leaned against his shoulder. 

“Yes, I know you are right, and I don’t care, Jack, anything 
about it if you will only love me alwayl.” 

Presently he threw a bundle of papers in her lap, saying : — 


9 6 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ Ah, I had almost forgotten. There is a present for you. It 
is first blood. Keep it a year or two, and I’ll make it worth for you 
ten times as many thousand dollars as it represents hundreds now.’’ 

“ What is it, Jack ? ” 

“ It is the main part of your cousin’s estate,” — he had long 
before revealed to her the relationship between herself and 
Frances, — “the ill-got proceeds of her mother’s shameful life. 
The girl herself has been depending on this, but now she will 
have to support herself in another way, and it is easy to guess 
how she will get what Collquitt does n’t give her. He will find out 
now, if he has n’t already, what kind of a creature it is for whose 
sake he insulted his faithful wife.” 

“ But, Jack, how did she happen to lose it ? ” 

He told her the story of the two roads, though slurring a little 
his deliberate wrecking of the old line. Then he explained how 
he proposed to make the North Shore stock valuable again. 

She looked at him with admiring and adoring eyes. 

“What a wonderful man you are, Jack ! I never heard of a 
man who had developed so much ability at your age. When Jay 
Gould dies there’ll be one man who can take his place in the 
financial world.” 

Her adoring admiration was as grateful to him as the love 
she so unstintedly gave, and she could have said nothing, had she 
given it her best effort and intention, that would so quickly have 
brought forgiveness for her offence and induced the caresses which 
she craved. 

Eva’s appearance had changed a good deal in these six 
months. Her expression was no longer calm and placid, but her 
eyes and the lines upon her face told plainly of unrest and a dis- 
turbed, unquiet heart and life. Nor was her face as refined as it 
had been. It showed that a coarser, lower nature had asserted 
itself, and that she had given herself up to her baser passions. A 
lurking look of evil, like that of a blood-thirsty wild beast, some- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


97 


times came in her eye, and when she talked with Malquam about 
the wild wish for revenge which still possessed her and grew 
excited over it her eyes would so gleam and her .face become so 
filled with her passion that even he would fear a little the demon 
he had fed and encouraged. 

For he had studiously urged her on in her desire to do evil to 
her husband. He had dexterously inflamed her hate, and had not 
allowed her to lose one iota of her wish for revenge. He had 
fed all that was evil and savage in her nature, and which had 
formerly lain dormant under the peaceful current of her life. But 
he had not told her of the affront Collquitt had given him. She 
knew nothing of his own wish for revenge, ar.d she had no idea 
that he was encouraging her feeling for use in his own plans. The 
passionate love which possessed her and made her his willing and 
adoring slave had something to do, too, with her changed nature. 
She was completely enthralled by the sensual passion which was 
aroused by a touch of his hand, or his lips, or a passionate glance 
of his eyes, and which filled her with the desire to become utterly 
and entirely his and give over to him all command of herself. As it 
always does, the awakening of passion awakened, too, those linger- 
ing traces of savagism which century upon century of culture and 
refinement and all the surroundings of civilized life have not been 
able to eradicate from the human nature. Those dormant im- 
pulses found a response in his temperament, as did all the lower 
and coarser fibres of her character, while the higher, the better, 
the finer, received but little encouragement. Sexual passion is a 
bridge whose piers at one end are planted in heaven and at the 
other rise out of the fires of hell. You ascend at the centre, and 
it depends on your own nature and that of the one you love 
whether the simoom blasts from the one side shall shrivel all that 
is good within you, or the blessed breezes from the other shall put 
new and beautiful life into your heart. She had mounted the 
bridge, and her face was turned toward hell. 


9 8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


Of late, too, Eva was beginning to feel the pangs of jealousy, 
the fiercest, and crudest, and savagest demon-pain that ever 
ravaged the human heart. Malquam’s conduct toward her, a little 
less ardent than formerly and sometimes a little rough, and vague 
rumors which had reached her ears, coupling his name with that 
of Maxie Sarto, made her feel that the house of her love was built 
upon sand and might come down about her ears at any time. 
When the possibility of that desolation smote her she would feel 
a wild wish to do evil rise up in her breast, which, after its frenzy 
had passed, would make her shudder at its strength. 

From a mild, serene, even-natured woman she had become a 
creature of moods, and passions, and imperious will, quick of tem- 
per and harsh in her judgments. Mary, the faithful domestic, who 
had been with her ever since the beginning of her married life, 
was puzzled and anxious, and feared that the trouble of Mr. 
Collquitt’s disappearance was driving her insane. Mary kept a 
long noose of rope hid in her closet against the evil day when she 
expected to see her mistress go tearing about the rooms, a danger- 
ous lunatic. She had planned, when that time should come, and 
she lived in daily expectation of seeing it, to lasso the poor woman, 
and tie her up out of harm’s way until help could be got. Mary 
shook her head, too, over Malquam’s frequent presence in the 
house, and decided that her mistress had come to be “ no better 
than she ought.” But severely as Mary reprobated the fault, and 
her disapproval found vent in several hints which she threw out 
sidewise at her mistress, she decided that she would stand by Mrs. 
Collquitt, for she “ did n’t know as the poor creature was much to 
blame, after all, when her scamp of a husband had deserted her 
like that, and who would ever have thought it of him, he was such a 
perfect gentleman.” But no amount of blandishments could induce 
her to look upon Malquam with other than the profoundest disfavor, 
and whenever called upon to perform any service in which he was 
interested she would obey with lofty disregard of his presence. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


99 


CHAPTER IX. 


While the mystery of Collquitt’s disappearance was still the 
sensation of the hour there appeared in the Mirror office a portly 
man, blonde of hair and moustache and ruddy of face. Although 
no longer either young or slender, he ran lightly up the stairs, and, 
stopping at the open door of the managing editor’s room', gaily 
began a double shuffle, while he whistled a bar of “ The girl I left 
behind me.” Lossman looked up, and sprang to his feet with 
outstretched hand : — 

“ Hello! Billy Hefty! Where in the world have you dropped 
from now ? ” 

“From New Orleans just now. Didn’t agree with me at all 
down there. Wretched climate. I’d have died if I’d stayed a 
month longer. Say, what’s all this about poor Collquitt?” 

“ Well, it looks now as if he’d eloped with that woman. Most 
people think so, but I can’t believe it.” 

“ Bluest bosh that ever was printed ! I don’t believe a word 
of it. He was n’t that kind of a man. Why, I never knew him to 
go on a racket ! And he always spent his evenings either at work 
or at home with his wife. No, sir, he’s been killed.” 

“ It looks to me as if there ’d been foul play, but why can’t 
one find out what, or when, or how ? ” 

Hefty shrugged his shoulders for reply and lighted a cigar. 
After a moment’s pause Lossman went on : — 

“ I say, Hefty, we want a city editor here to take Collquitt’s 
place. What do you say to it ? Only, you know, if he should 
turn up again and want it, the position would belong to him.” 

“ All right. I was going to ask you if you had anything. 


IOO 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


Will the business office give me an advance ? I ’m dead broke. ” 

Lossman took some money from his pocket and handed it to 
his companion. # 

“ Nobody ever knew you to be in any other condition. How 
did you happen to have money enough to get here from New 
Orleans ? ” 

“ Had a pass. An acquaintance of mine from down there 
came along at the same time, and I borrowed some of him. Got 
to pay it back to-night, for he’s off again to-morrow. Mighty good 
fellow he is, too. You ought to know him. He’s a perfect mine 
for a newspaper man to get hold of, for he knows so many promi- 
nent people, and can tell good stories about them by the hour. 
Say, Lossman, get off for an hour to-night, can’t you, and come up 
to my room at the Quincy and meet him. We ’ll have a little 
champagne supper up there and a jolly time.” And Hefty stuffed 
the money he had just borrowed into his vest pocket. 

“ Same old Billy,” was Lossman’s mental comment, as he 
replied : — 

“ All right, Billy, I think I can. But look here, how do you 
happen to be coming from New Orleans ? Last I heard of you 
you were in Chicago.” 

“ Chicago ? Oh, yes, so I was. But that was a year ago, at 
least. I didn’t like it there. Wretched climate. Nearly killed 
me. Egad, though, but I had an experience getting away from 
there. Could n’t get a pass, and all my friends were dead broke. 
Physically, I was played out, and I had to get to the Pacific Coast 
to recuperate. And I got there, too.” 

“ I ’ll bet you did. But how did you do it ? ” 

“ Did n’t you read in the San Francisco papers about a news- 
paper man who enlisted in the army so as to get his passage paid 
to the coast and deserted as soon as he got out there ? Well, 
that man’s real name was Billy Hefty, and I ’m the Billy Hefty 
that did it. Had a deuce of a time out there, toa. More adven- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


IOI 


tures than would fill a book. Do you remember about that expe- 
dition that went down into Monterey County and captured the 
bandit, Joaquin Peralta, and his gang? ” 

“ Yes, we had a little about it, but not much. ,, 

“ Well, you must have had a despatch about a newspaper man 
that went along with them, and caught Joaquin by his sash just as 
he was about to climb out of a back window and take to the woods. 
He jumped on to Joaquin’s back and pinned him down to the 
window sill, so that he could n’t get at his guns, and shouted for 
the sheriff. Had that, didn’t you ? No ? that’s queer. Well, that 
newspaper man’s name was Billy Hefty, and I’m the Billy Hefty 
that did it.” 

“ Why did n’t you stay in San Francisco ? I should think that 
would have been just the place for you.” 

“ Oh, the climate did n’t agree with me. Worst I ever tried 
to live in. Played the very deuce with my throat. Why, there 
were actually days when the doctor ordered me to stop talking. 
It’s a nice place, though, in some respects. The boys are all free 
with their pocketbooks, and don’t mind loaning you anything you 
ask for. I went from there to Denver. Had the funniest experi- 
ence of all my life on that trip. You must have read about it. 
How a pretty young lady and a newspaper man were standing on 
the platform looking at the scenery as the train was crossing the 
Rockies, and she lost her balance and fell off, and he jumped after 
her. Well, that was Billy Hefty again. It was just as we were 
crossing the highest point of the mountains, and the train was 
going rather slow, so that it did n’t hurt either of us in the least. 
We sat there on a peak and she fixed up her hair while we waited for 
the train to back up the side of the mountain and pick us up. They 
came, too, though it was hard work. The conductor knew I was a 
newspaper man, and that I’d give their old road hell if he did n’t 
come back. Je — rusalem ! I did n’t think it was that late. I’ve got 
to go and hunt up my friend and tell him about our champagne 


102 


FRANCES : A STORV FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


supper to-night. I’ll show up for work in the morning, I suppose ? 
All right. Don’t forget the supper. We’ll expect you. Good-bye.” 

The next day after Malquam had made his request at the 
messenger office his call for a messenger brought to his desk the 
lad whose misadventure with the letter had had such serious 
results. Malquam looked up and saw a bright-looking little fellow, 
whose round, childish face was too serious looking for his years, 
and whose big, wide-open, blue eyes had a lurking shrewdness in 
their corners that did not comport at all with his stature. Malquam 
eyed him narrowly a moment before speaking. 

“ Well, my lad, what’s your name ? ” 

“ Gus Sanders.” 

“You took a letter day before yesterday from the Mirror 
office to Street ? ” 

The boy cast down his eyes and stammered : — 

“ Y-yes, sir, I — I b’lieve so.” 

“You took it to number 25, and it was directed to Miss 
Frances Hawthort ? ” 

“I — I — don’t remember. I guess so.” 

“ But you were sent there from the Mirror office ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And did you take the letter ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And delivered it ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Who signed your ticket ? ” 

“ The lady did.” 

“ My boy, you are lying to me. You lost that letter on the side- 
walk beside the entrance to this building. You signed the lady’s 
name to the ticket yourself. What do you think I ought to do 
with you ? ” 

The boy stood stoically, his eyes cast down, and, for all sign 
he gave, not hearing a word that Malquam said. 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 103 

“ Speak up, young man. What do you think I ought to do 
with you ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ I’ll tell you what I could do.” And Malquam leaned 
toward the lad and spoke slowly and impressively. “ Your 
signing the lady’s name to the ticket without seeing her was — 
forgery, and I could put you in prison for it.” 

Stricken with a sudden terror, the lad’s fingers relaxed and 
his cap fell to the floor. His jaw dropped, and he stood there,, 
staring at Malquam, the picture of abject fear. Malquam bent 
a stern look on the frightened child for a moment and then; 
said : — 

“ I think it is what I ought to do with you. A boy that 
would be guilty of that is not to be trusted. The only safe place 
for him is in prison.” 

The boy began to cry, protesting that he did n’t know it was 
wrong, and declaring that he would never do such a thing again. 
But Malquam pitilessly kept on with his threats until the child 
was in a state of terror bordering on hysterics. Then he said : — 

“ You’re very sure this has been a lesson to you, and that 
you’ll never be tempted to do such a thing again ? ” 

“ O, no, sir, no, sir. I won’t never do it again, sure.” 

“ And do you think you could follow instructions now as you 
ought ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I did n’t know I’d have to go to jail for it.” 

“ Well, Gus, I think myself that this has been a lesson you will 
remember. On the whole, as you are so sorry for your fault, I 
won’t be severe with you. I believe in giving boys a chance when 
they show any signs of wanting to do as they ought. But it isn’t 
best for you to stay with the company. There are too many 
temptations there, and you might do this same thing over again. 
I’m willing, though, to give you a chance right here in my office, 
until I find out if you really want to keep yourself straight and be 


104 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


a trustworthy boy. You may begin work next Monday. But 
mind you,” and Malquam shook a warning finger at the boy and 
transfixed him with a look that made cold chills run down his 
back, “ if I ever catch you disobeying my instructions, or loitering 
on an errand, or lying to me, as you lied just now, or not coming 
straight to me and telling me of any accident that has happened 
to any message of mine, mind you, I’ll have you snatched up and 
put in prison for forgery before you know it.” 

And the boy went out with a mortgage on his actions and 
a terror in his heart that cost him many an anxious hour. 

Malquam was very busy during the next few months, steering 
his electric light scheme on toward success. He put out feelers 
first in New York, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, and Washington, and 
made frequent visits to those cities. He did not discover Frances’ 
departure until she had been gone nearly a month. To his dis- 
comfiture, he found she had disappeared entirely, and he could 
get no trace of her. He censured Mrs. Aldus severely for allow- 
ing the girl to slip between their fingers in that way, just when 
a little watching and management would have brought her safely 
back. He fumed and worried about her disappearance to a degree 
that surprised even himself. He smilingly said to himself that he 
was more in love with her than he had thought. He had felt so 
sure of her a little while before, and that one sight of her had 
so aroused his desires that now the disappointment irritated him 
fully as much as the momentary thwarting of his wish for revenge. 
While he was chafing under the impossibility of finding out where 
she had gone he called a cab one day to drive him to the depot. 
He noticed that the driver looked at him curiously as he stepped 
inside, and stood irresolutely a moment as if about to say some- 
thing before he mounted the box. So Malquam gave him a sharp 
glance as he got out, and then remembered his face. 

“ Well, my friend, it’s a long time since you drove me last.” 

“Yes, boss, but I drove somebody else not long ago.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


I0 5 


“ Who was it ? ” 

“ The young lady. I thought you might like to know 
about it.” 

Malquam looked at his watch. He had only half a minute to 
catch his train, and unless he took it he would miss an important 
engagement in New York. But he entered the carriage again 
with the order, “ Back to my office.” 

“ Now tell me everything you know. Your name is — ” 

“ Peters, sir, Andrew Peters.” 

“ Well, Peters, what young lady did you drive ? ” 

“ The one you had me find out about that other time.” 

“ How do you know it was the same one ? You did n’t see 
her.” 

“ My friend, Jim, who drove her and the big feller that rainy 
night, he was at the depot and he see her get out of my hack, and 
he told me it was the same one that I inquired of him about that 
time.” 

“ Where did you drive her from ? ” 

“ A house on Street.” 

“ What number ? ” 

“ I’ve got it down. Here it is.” 

And he fished a dirty memorandum book out of his pocket 
and showed Malquam the number. 

“Yes. And where did you take her to ? ” 

“ The Old Colony depot.” 

“ Did you see her ticket or trunk checks ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I checked her trunks.” 

“ Well, go on. Where was her ticket for ? ” 

Peters hesitated, and Malquam, checking his growing impa- 
tience, smiled and handed the man a five-dollar bill. 

“ Thank you, sir. It was for New York.” 

“ Ah ! And is this all you know, my friend ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I b’lieve it’s all I can tell you.” 


io6 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ I’m much obliged to you, Peters. Is there anything I can 
do for you ? ” 

For he had noticed that the man was hesitating, as if he 
wanted something else. Peters had got the impression, from Mal- 
quam’s eager manner, that his information was of importance, and 
an idea had occurred to him. 

“ Yes, boss, I kind of think there’s a big thing you might do 
for me.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Well, you see, I’ve had a cough cornin’ on me for some 
time, and the doctor says I’ve got to give up my hack and do 
something that will keep me indoors out of the weather, and I 
thought maybe you could help me to a good job.” 

“ I’ll see, Peters. I will if I can. Come and see me a week 
from to-day and I’ll let you know.” 

The end of it was that Peters was installed as night watch- 
man in the building in which Malquam’s office was situated. And 
Malquam, with the aid of this knowledge, and of further informa- 
tion which Peters got for him as to the date of Frances’ depar- 
ture, soon found her. 

As the summer months wore on and Collquitt did not reap- 
pear Malquam began to be very uneasy. The mystery had con- 
tinued longer than he had intended it should, and it worried him 
so much that he had dreams about it. Had Travens exceeded 
his instructions, and had Collquitt been killed ? He questioned 
Travens closely, but the detective knew no more than he did 
about Collquitt’s fate. The fear that violence had been used, that 
it would be discovered, and his connection with it exposed, had 
caused him a good many sleepless hours, when, toward the latter 
part of September, a man came to his office and asked to see him 
privately. 

Malquam shut the door of his private office and looked in- 
quiringly at his visitor. The man was a wiry, youngish-looking 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 107 

fellow, with dark hair and a dark, stubbly beard, and a face that 
was remarkable for the mixture in its expression of low cunning 
with intelligence. His attire was rather unkempt, and he had the 
appearance of a man who had been removed for sometime from 
the conveniences of civilization, but who would look entirely differ- 
ent after he had passed through a barber’s and a tailor’s hands. 
He gave one keen, sidelong glance at Malquam. 

“ I suppose you remember, sir, the mysterious disappearance 
last spring of a gentleman named Collquitt.” 

“ I do.” 

“ Well, I have reason to believe that there was a gentleman 
in Boston at that time who had a particular reason for being glad 
that Mr. Collquitt did disappear.” 

“ Indeed ! I supposed that Mr. Collquitt was a popular man. 
I never heard before of his having any enemies.” 

“ O, well, you know, gentlemen have disagreements some- 
times with other gentlemen which make bad blood between 
them.” 

“ It is very likely. But will you state your business, sir ? My 
time is valuable.” 

The man’s keen, narrow eyes had been watching Malquam, 
and they had detected the irritation in his manner, the effort to 
conceal it, and the still greater effort to appear unconstrained and 
surprised at the man’s questions. 

“ So is mine, sir. I have only a few hours in the city, and,” 
with a deprecating glance at his seedy clothing, “I’d like to make 
myself presentable again before I leave. I thought you might 
possibly know something about the wishes of the gentleman I 
spoke of.” 

“ I assure you, I know nothing about any such man.” 

“ Do you suppose you could find out about any gentleman who 
would like to know, for instance, whether Mr. Collquitt is alive or 
dead ? ” 


io8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ Everybody in Boston would be interested in knowing that, 
for his disappearance created a great excitement. If you’ve got 
any information of that kind, you’d better take it to the news- 
papers.” 

In the effort to appear to know nothing and care nothing 
about the matter Malquam had gone a little too far, and the 
visitor immediately decided that his guess had been correct, and 
that this was the man he wanted. His manner suddenly became 
more confident and less respectful, and with a half sneer on his 
face he leaned forward and asked : — 

“ Don’t you think it would be a good plan for that gentle- 
man, supposing there is such a one, to find out whether or not 
he’d like to know what’s become of Collquitt and how much he’d 
be willing to pay for the information ? ” 

Malquam desired intensely to find out what the man knew, 
but he dared not show the least interest in the matter. He saw 
that the fellow knew something of his connection with the case, 
and he knew that if he weakened in the least he would be made 
the victim of persistent blackmail. He fixed his eyes steadily on 
his visitor, and said : — 

“ I know nothing about any such man as you speak of, and 
I have no more interest in Collquitt’s fate than the average citi- 
zen of Boston. Of course, I would like to know what became 
of him, for every one is pleased to find out the solution of a 
mystery. I do not know who or what you are, but I do know 
that you are trying to work some kind of a blackmailing scheme 
on me. I give you just three minutes to get but of my office, and 
if you are not gone then, I’ll have you arrested.” 

The man got up with an air of superior indifference. 

“ O, well, if that’s your opinion, of course, there’s nothing 
more to be said, but I advise you to think better of it, and 
see if ycu can’t find the gentleman. I’m told he’s a good friend 
of yours, and if you should change your mind about it, just 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. IO9 

look around you, and you’ll find some way of letting me know.” 

Malquam pondered a good deal over his strange visitor. 
How had the fellow discovered anything about his connection 
with the affair ? Had Travens been indiscreet, or had he traded 
off his knowledge for information about some criminal matter? 
In that case, who was this man ? Could he be any one but the 
murderer of McManus ? The thought sent a cold shiver through 
his veins. Would the fellow keep up his watch ? It was not a 
pleasant prospect, this, of being constantly under a murderer’s sur- 
veillance. He believed from the man’s manner that Collquitt must 
be dead, and that, of course, would give the fellow a hold upon 
him which it would be impossible to shake off. Altogether, the 
affair was becoming very uncomfortable, and he wished himself 
well out of it.” 

Hefty’s position on the Mirror brought him a number of 
times into contact with Malquam, and he conceived an intense dis- 
like for the young financier. He made it a matter of special and 
personal importance to look up all the financial schemes' in which 
Malquam had been interested, and in a pigeon-hole in his desk, 
marked “ Malquam,” he filed all the information he could get 
about them. 

“ That will come in handy some of these days,” he said to 
Lossman. “The fellow’s bound to burst up sometime, in a 
way that’ll be disastrous to everybody connected with him. 
There’ll be a big sensation about it, and you can have a scoop 
with this information I’ve been getting together here. It’s all 
straight, and you’ll be thankful enough that Billy Hefty had the 
foresight to get it.” 

“ He’s generally considered a brilliant financier, and I’ve 
never heard anything against his honesty.” 

“ Financier be blowed ! He’s an editio?i de luxe of the ‘ Forty 
Thieves,’ all in one volume. Just look at the way he’s wrecked that 
North Shore road. Why, it was downright dishonesty. He did 


no 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


it all out of pure deviltry, too, for he could have made more 
money in any one of a thousand other things. Pure malice, I 
tell you. He must have had a spite against somebody in it. He’s 
got an immense scheme on hand now, with his electric light 
business. But I’m on to him. I’m laying for him, and the instant 
I get a good chance I’ll show it up. O, he’ll find out who Billy 
Hefty is to his sorrow.” 

Hefty entered Lossman’s room one day in October, and, hav- 
ing performed his usual double shuffle, nonchalantly sat down. 

“ I say, Lossman, loan me some money, won’t you ? I’ve 
got to pay back twenty-five dollars I borrowed of a fellow last 
night, and I’m dead broke. Invited him to go on a racket with 
me, and after we got started I remembered I did n’t have any 
money.” 

Lossman handed him the money and said, with a smile : — 

“ Billy, you must have been born in debt, and so got behind 
at the very start, for you’re always borrowing to pay back what 
you’ve borrowed from somebody else.” 

“ Yes ; it’s my opinion I was born C. O. D., and had to be 
mortgaged to meet the demand. If the last man I borrow from 
wants to get his money back, he’ll have to slip into heaven ahead 
of me, and garnishee my halo. I want to see you again in a few 
minutes.” 

He rushed out, but presently returned, and with a serious air 
began : — 

“ Lossman, I want to go away.” 

“ The deuce, you do ! Are n’t you getting along all right 
here? Come, now, Hefty, be contented once in your life, and 
stay where you are. I’d hate to give you up just now.” 

“ Think as much of me as that, do you ? Then I’ll come 
back. I’ve got an idea in my head about Collquitt. I went on a 
racket last night, and we took in the madame’s ranch up on 
Chandler Street. Something was said by somebody about Coll- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


Ill 


quitt, and the madame made a reply that showed she knew him. 
I thought that was mighty queer, for he was n’t a racketing man 
at all. So I got her to one side and questioned her a little, and I 
found out that Collquitt got stuck on a girl that used to be 
there, though the madame said she was a decent thing, and stayed 
there for several weeks just before he disappeared. That’s some- 
thing new, you see, and disproves the elopement theory. The 
woman brought Malquam’s name into the story, too, but she’d 
been drinking enough to muddle her brain a little, so that she 
was n’t very coherent, and as soon as she realized that she’d said 
anything about Malquam she got mum all at once, and would n’t 
say another word. Now, I’m convinced that Malquam had some- 
thing to do with his disappearance.” 

“Nonsense, Billy! You’re getting cranky about Malquam.” 

“ Maybe so, but I propose to find out. All I could discover 
about the girl was that she had disappeared, too. Well, Benson, 
down in the counting-room, told me once about a pretty girl com- 
ing in two or three times and asking about Collquitt. She said 
she was his step-sister. I know he did n’t have any step-sister. 
Another thing that makes me suspect Malquam is that he and 
some other dudes went in last night just before we came out, and 
I saw him look at me and then scowl at her, and heard him ask 
her something to the effect, ‘ If she’d been letting her tongue 
go ? ’ And I concluded that he was afraid she’d been talking 
more than she ought. Now, it’s my opinion that he’s kidnapped 
the girl and got her hid somewhere, and is breaking her in to 
forget Collquitt. And in the meantime he’s probably run Collquitt 
into an insane asylum, or something of the kind, until he can make 
himself all right with the girl. He wouldn’t dare have Collquitt 
killed, I’m sure. With these ideas about the matter, I think I’ll 
start off to do a little detective work.” 

“ Well, Billy, I must say that I think your ideas have got more 
imagination in them than anything else. And you’re too suspicious 


1 1 2 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


about Malquam. He’s not at all the black-hearted villain you 
insist on believing him, but a very nice, clever young fellow. We 
made a thorough search for Collquitt last spring, and you’ll just 
simply lose your time, and money, and energy.” 

“Well, I need a vacation, anyway. Your miserable Boston 
climate is too much for me. I’ll go over to Albany and rusticate 
awhile, and come back feeling better. Do you remember reading 
about a piece of detective work that was engineered by a news- 
paper man in Chicago ? He found a man who had committed a 
murder twenty-five years ago and made him confess. Pinkerton’s, 
and all the Chicago police, had been after the fellow ever since 
and had n’t been able to find him. The newspaper man who ran 
him to earth was Billy Hefty, and I am the Billy Hefty that did it. 
I found him, and I think I can find Collquitt, too.” 

“ All right, Billy ; if you think you can, go ahead. And I hope 
you’ll succeed. The office will give you any help you need.” 

And the next day the train for Albany carried Billy Hefty 
among its passengers. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


IX 3 


CHAPTER X. 

When Frances found herself so summarily ordered out of her 
home her heart turned with the bravery of despair to that un- 
known, unacknowledged father in New York. She had often 
wished that she had the daring to go to him, make herself known, 
and ask for his assistance and advice. But she shrank from the 
idea, not only from delicacy and disinclination on her mother’s 
account, — how could she ever tell him, she said to herself, and 
he would be sure to ask, how that mother had spent her life, — 
but also from fear and shame with regard to herself. These last 
two months had made her more worldly-wise in one respect, and 
she had come to understand, though not keenly and entirely, 
even yet, that the world would consider her a lost creature, a vile 
woman, who could not be touched without contamination. It 
never occurred to her that he, her father, would receive her with 
any but pitying, fatherly love and tenderness. Neither did she 
even think of concealing from him any part of the truth about her- 
self. It was the shame, the keen hurt to her pride, that had 
made her unable to face the ordeal. But now she must go some- 
where. She dared not go back to Mrs. Aldus. She knew what 
the result would be if she tried it, and for the sake of her new 
interest in life she would not take the risk. She felt, too, that if 
she stayed in Boston these people would hunt her up again, and 
there would be a repetition of her late experience. It made her 
utterly discouraged to think of it, and in the midst of her trunk 
packing she sat down on the floor with her head in a chair and 
cried. What could she do and where could she go to get away 
from them and out of this horrible solitude ? As she sat there 


8 


1 14 FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

sobbing she felt that if she had done that bad thing she was 
tempted to do, and were free now, recklessness, and despair, and 
discouragement would drive her into that life toward which cir- 
cumstances seemed conspiring to force her. She was glad that 
she had not done it, and she felt more than ever determined, for 
the child’s sake, to live a life that would be beyond reproach. 
But now she must do something, she must go somewhere. She 
wished there were some one to whom she could go for advice, 
some one to tell her what to do. Her life had always been so 
marked out for her, even in the minutest details, and she had 
lived it in such unquestioning obedience to her mother and the 
sisters in the convent that she had but little more practical 
ability and mental decision in ordinary affairs than a girl of half 
her years. She had always leaned upon some one ; and now, 
entirely without an adviser and director, she felt the need of one 
more than of anything else. That was why she began to think 
of her father. The more she thought about it, the more it 
seemed to her that the only thing she could do was to seek him. 
So she conquered her pride and her feeling of shame, and turned 
her face to New York. 

The next day after reaching that city she walked up Fifth 
Avenue and down the fashionable cross street upon which her 
father’s church was located. It was Sunday morning, and people 
were going in. She loitered about the door for a few minutes 
and then gathered all her courage together and stepped inside. 
It was the first time in her life she had ever attended church 
services, other than the mass celebrations in the convent. She 
was looking about her, so absorbed in the impressions of the 
moment that she had half forgotten why she was there, when her 
father arose in the pulpit. The sudden shock of his presence 
set her head a-whirling and her nerves a-tingling from head to 
foot. The man in the pulpit, the people, the painted windows, 
swam in an undistinguishable medley before her eyes, and she put 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 115 

her head down on the back of the pew in front of her lest she 
might fall off the seat. Presently the sermon began and she sat 
up, listening intently, the vivid color in her cheeks, the wide-open 
eyes, and the parted lips showing her intense interest. She did 
not lose a word of the discourse, and weeks afterward she could 
almost repeat it. At its close she went out again with a wildly- 
throbbing heart, cheeks and eyes still glowing. 

Ah, her father ! He was indeed a great man, and he must 
surely be a good man, too. That was a wonderful sermon. It 
was pressed full of pregnant thought, of things to make one 
think. And how it glowed with sympathy ! He had feeling and 
love for every human being. Oh, he was a man who had thought, 
and felt, and suffered, and he knew how to put all the intensity of 
life into his speech. And not only that, but his words and his 
manner suggested rest, and comfort, and soothing. Her heart 
swelled with a pleasure so keen that it was painful at the thought 
that this man, so powerful, so exalted, so great in mind and heart, 
was her father. She no longer felt that she was the wicked, 
disgraced woman she had come to consider herself, but she 
seemed lifted up out of all that past by this knowledge of him. 
Why had she not sought him out long ago ? She no longer 
dreaded the interview with him. A man like that would have 
nothing but charity for her mother’s sins and nothing but forgive- 
ness for her own. Filled with such thoughts and emotions as 
these, until their pressure seemed almost more than her brain 
could bear, she walked rapidly but aimlessly about for a long 
time. At last, becoming conscious that she was tired, she 
stopped and brought her thoughts down to her immediate sur- 
roundings. Then she remembered what she had come to New 
York for, and started straightway to find his house. 

She told the servant that she would rather not give her name, 
and the minister had her ushered at once into the library, where 
he sat reading. He rose as she went in and she saw before her 


Il6 FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

a large man of dignified presence, with iron-gray hair, and a 
smooth-shaven face, upon which there was an expression of 
mingled strength and sweetness. It was a commanding face, a 
face to attract attention wherever it might be seen, just as is 
every face — though such are pitifully few — behind "which lies 
either mental power or moral force, whose owner has eyes to see 
or mind to ponder the problems of the world he lives in. He had, 
too, and in this lay a large measure of the secret of his success 
as a preacher, a bountiful endowment of that subtle, indefinable 
quality sometimes called personal magnetism, — the combined 
results of abundant physical vigor, of broad, warm sympathies, 
and an ability to compel an interest in the person or thing 
immediately at hand. 

As Frances stepped into his presence a nervous trembling 
again seized her and the room swam before her eyes. She put 
her hand on the back of a chair for support, and stood still with 
her eyes cast down. He saw that she was embarrassed and 
advanced a few steps with courteous dignity. 

“ You would like to see me ? ” 

She raised her eyes and there were tears in them, the result of 
her nervous excitement. She felt that if she tried to speak she would 
break into sobs, and so she stood still, trying to control herself. 

“You are in trouble? Be seated, please. Perhaps I can 
help you.” 

He motioned her to a chair and stood beside his own, waiting 
for her to be seated first. She was trying to seize some one of the 
thousand thoughts that were flying helter-skelter through her 
brain. She had not thought at all as to what she would say to 
this man, how she would begin her story, and now she stood there 
like a dumb woman, striving to fashion in her mind some proper 
way of beginning, but utterly at a loss what to say first. The 
silence grew unbearable and she burst forth : — 

“I — I — would like to see you a few moments. I — want 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 




— I want to ask you — to tell you — that — I am your daughter.” 

An expression of annoyance flitted across the Rev. Francis 
Hawthort’s face and involuntarily he moved backward a step. 
Frances felt rather than saw the movement, and she looked up at 
him with a wistful, appealing face and eyes suffused with tears. 
His first impression was that she used the word in a spiritual 
sense, and that it was simply a case of religious hysterics. He had 
frequent dealings with such, and to his sane, healthy nature there 
was nothing more repugnant. But even with these people he tried 
to be forbearing and gentle as long as possible, and so he 
conquered his annoyance and said : — 

“ Ah ! You are a member of my church ? ” 

A wan smile crept into the corners of her mouth and she 
shook her head. 

“ Then perhaps you wish to be connected with it ? ” 

Her sense of the humorous got the better of her and she put 
her handkerchief to her face to hide a smile. But it relieved the 
strain upon her tense nerves and made her feel more like herself. 
“No. I do not mean in that way.” 

“ Then what do you mean ? ” 

“ Why, just that — you are my father.” 

He stepped back again, and Frances saw that he looked 
puzzled and apprehensive. She herself was deeply, painfully dis- 
appointed. In all her anticipation of this interview, particularly 
since the sermon of that morning, she had pictured a warm and 
immediate welcome. Just now, with her high-strung nerves 
reduced to a quieter condition, she saw that such an expectation 
was absurd, but still she felt grieved and hurt because he looked 
at her with suspicion and without the least trace of paternal affec- 
tion in his manner. Her answer made him think perhaps she was 
insane, and he looked at her keenly an instant. No, there was no 
sign of insanity, but every indication of mental health, in that clear 
eye and that expressive countenance. His next thought was that 


Xl8 FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

perhaps she was a blackmailer, and with a colder tone and an 
increased dignity of manner he replied : — 

“ I must ask you for further explanation.” 

She hesitated a moment, searching for the right thing to say. 

“ Do you remember Annie Bertram ? ” 

“ Annie Bertram ? ” 

“He has even forgotten her name,” she said bitterly to 
herself as she saw him look at her inquiringly. Life and love 
were too new with, her for her to know that in a man’s busy 
existence an out-lived, burned-out love can become of no more 
consequence than the ashes in his pipe. 

“ Yes, Annie Bertram, years ago, in Fall River.” 

He gave a great start and clutched the chair in front of him. 
He did remember ! In an instant it all came back to him, and 
the fire of that wonderful first love of the long ago flamed again 
in his heart. He bowed his head on the chair in front of him, 
and the large, strong frame quivered with the intensity of his 
feeling. When he looked up there were tears in his eyes and a 
gentle, softened expression upon his face. 

“ You are her daughter — and mine ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

With the glow of the old feeling in his heart, he moved 
forward impulsively, and stretching out his arms clasped her to 
his breast, kissing her brow, and pressing her head upon his 
shoulder. After a momenr it occurred to him that he was not 
acting with common prudence. He handed her to a chair, and 
after walking back and forth for a moment, said : — 

“Of course, you have brought with you proofs that you are 
her daughter ? ” 

Proofs? She had never thought of them. Still, she had 
plenty. 

“ I did not think to bring them with me. But I have letters 
and pictures in my trunk at the hotel.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


9 


“ Then will you come to my study, in the back of the church, 
to-morrow at noon, and bring them ? ” 

She turned toward him a timid, appealing glance, and rose 
to go. His thoughts were busy in the past, and he did not notice 
her look. 

“Wait a moment,” he said as she neared the door. “Did 
she send you to me ? ” 

“No. She is dead. She died last December.” 

“ Where have you been since then ? ” 

“ In Boston.” Her heart quaked with fear of the next 
question. But he looked at her with affectionate interest and 
simply asked : — 

“ Why have you come here now, after this long time ? ” 

“ Because — I needed you, — and — I had nowhere else to 

go.” 

All the sorrow and trouble of the last few months clouded 
her heart and were reflected in her face. He saw that she was 
in deep distress, and all his sympathies went out to her at once. 
But his worldly wisdom came to his aid, and he recognized that 
it would be better not to entangle himself any further until he 
knew more about this young woman and her credentials. 

“ Well, you shall tell me all about it to-morrow, after I have 
seen your papers. Until then, good-bye.” 

After she was gone he paced the floor for an hour, with his 
mind in a tumult. He lived over in remembrance all those 
glorious days and hours, and stopped once with his hand upon 
his heart — for the thrill of pleasure was so keen that it brought 
physical pain — as the sudden vision rose before his eyes of Annie 
Bertram as he had seen her one day in that long ago, a picture of 
youthful beauty, her face glowing with love. So perfect and dis- 
tinct was the vision that he stopped short in his walk, struck by 
the resemblance of the outline to that of the woman who had just 
stood before him. It was the same pretty, graceful, rounded form, 


120 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


instinct with health and vigor. And the hair, yes, that was like 
the glowing hair that Annie used to have, only hers was more 
golden than this. His eyes chanced to fall upon a photograph of 
himself that lay on the table beside which he stood, and another 
resemblance made him start. The girl had his nose, his mouth, 
his chin, his contour of cheek, only refined and feminized. 
Surely it must be a truthful story she told ! Well, he would wait 
until to-morrow and see what evidence she had. He did not 
believe she could be an adventuress. She seemed so young, and 
innocent, and straightforward, and her manner, and looks, and 
tones were simplicity itself. No, none but an experienced actress 
could imitate the real article in that way. Still, he would wait and 
see her proofs, he said to himself over and over again. For an 
uncomfortable question was coming up in his mind, and he did 
not want to consider it. He tried to think of other things, of his 
immediate duties, the news in the morning papers, his church 
plans, but that persistent problem stuck up its ugly head in front 
of everything else with which he tried to occupy his mind and 
forced him to face it. If her story was true, if she proved to be 
his daughter, his and Annie’s, what then ? What was he to do ? 
What would she want ? Would she be willing to go away again ? 
Would she want him to acknowledge her and take her into his 
home ? And could he do it ? That was the question which 
thrust itself before him whichever way he turned. Could he, 
before his wife, his church, his public, acknowledge this offspring 
of that youthful imprudence ? Could he stand with downcast head 
before them all and say, “ Peccavi ” ? Could he ? Could he ? 
With persistent iteration the question came again and again. He 
put it off. He would not think of it. He filled his mind with 
other things. But every time that he thrust it aside it returned to 
the attack. It even haunted his dreams, and it allowed him no 
peace until he sat in his study with Frances and gave his attention 
to the letters and proofs she brought. Frances showed him part 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


12 


of the letter containing the story of her mother’s life, other letters 
which her mother had written to her while she was in school, two 
or three which her mother’s father and mother had sent to their 
afterward outcast daughter, some pictures of her mother and 
father which had been taken during their short-lived happiness, 
and at last she timidly and shyly handed him a little packet, 
yellow and faded, tied with a faded ribbon, and redolent of the 
perfumed box in which it had lain for nearly a quarter of a century. 
His heart gave a great throb as he took it into his hand and saw 
what it was. One after another he opened the letters, glanced 
over their pages, and then slowly and tenderly folded them again, 
as one might touch the grave-clothes of a dead child. But his 
eyes were growing misty and at last, with a great, dry sob, his head 
dropped upon his hands. 

Frances leaned forward, troubled and apprehensive, for never 
before in all her life had she seen tears upon a man’s face, and 
spoke to him in a low, tender voice : — 

“ Father ! ” 

But the word only added to his agitation, and for a few 
moments his strong frame was shaken by convulsive sobs. When 
he raised his head he put one hand under her chin, and, lifting her 
face slightly, looked at her long and earnestly. 

“ All these documents which you have brought me, coupled 
with the undoubted signs of parentage which your face and figure 
give, leave no doubt in my mind that your story is true and that 
you are, indeed, my child, although I give you my word of honor 
that I never knew of your existence before. It is strange,” — he 
went on, as he picked up the letter containing part of the story of 
Annie Betram’s life, — “it is strange how we were so suddenly 
and completely separated, and she says here that she wrote to me. 
I never received her letters, but, instead, I was told a story of her 
unfaithfulness and fickleness that, God forgive me ! in the heat 
of my anger I believed. If one of those letters had come to me,” 


122 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


— and with a sudden hot indignation he smote his palm with his 
fist, — “ her life and mine would have been very different. There 
was juggling and underhanded manoeuvring to keep us apart, — 
and their falsifying and their wicked work succeeded only too 
well.” In his anger he had risen and was pacing the room with 
rapid strides, his head thrown back and his bright blue eyes spark- 
ling with indignation. The old affection was alive in his heart 
again, and across that chasm of years the risen love was stretching 
its arms yearningly for the deserted sweetheart of his youth. For 
the moment he despised himself, and stood abashed and humiliated 
before his own censure. Then he wondered if that was the way 
he had appeared to her in those days when, because of her love of 
him, she was made an outcast, and putting his hand on Frances’ 
shoulder he said : — 

“ It must have seemed to her that I treated her in a most 
despicable way. Did she ever speak bitterly of me ? ” 

“ No ; she never spoke of you at all, and I never*knew who 
my father was until I found these papers among her things after 
she died. I never was with her very much, for I was away at 
school most of the time.” 

“My daughter, — but you have n ’t told me your name.” 

“ Frances Hawthort.” 

She felt a tremor pass through the hand upon her shoulder. 
Then he made a sudden turn and sat down opposite her. 

“ She gave you my name ! Did she never marry ? ” 

It had come — the question she had dreaded ever since she 
decided to go to him. But it must be answered, and Frances had 
never entertained a thought of meeting it in any other way than 
squarely and truthfully. She had not shown him that part of the 
story of her mother’s life which told how she had lived after the 
child’s birth. Her face was crimson and her eyes felt as if they 
would burst from their sockets as she took a folded paper from 
her bag and handed it to him. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


123 


“That will tell ycu all about her life.” 

He read it through, held it thoughtfully in his hands a few 
moments, and then said : — 

“ It is not for me to censure her. She was more sinned 
against than sinning.” 

Frances looked at him gratefully. 

“ I am glad to hear you say that. It makes me love you 
already.” 

Her words, so evidently sincere, sent the sting of remorse 
still deeper. He felt that she ought to despise him. “Don’t!” 
he said, putting out a deprecating hand. “ It is good and kind of 
you to feel in that way toward me, but it is more than I de- 
serve, for I was primarily the author of it all, and I deserve to be 
condemned and despised. But I have had honor and fame, and 
she had only reproach and the life of an outcast. My child, I 
ought to beg your forgiveness, for it is too late to make expiation 
to her.” 

Frances was sitting with downcast, misty eyes, scarcely com- 
prehending what he said, gathering up all her moral courage and 
nervous strength for the next thing that had to be done. Silence 
fell upon them, and after waiting a few minutes, Frances, still 
with shamed, blushing face, timidly and hesitatingly spoke : — 

“ There is something else I must tell you, and if after that 
you will still let me call you ‘father,’ — ” 

“ What is it, my daughter ? ” 

“ It is — about — my own life.” 

“ Your mother did not bring you up among such sur- 
roundings ? ” 

“No; oh, no! She was the best, and sweetest, and most 
careful mother a girl ever had, and I knew nothing of the way she 
lived and made her money until — after she died.” Then she 
told him of her secluded and studious life in the convent school^ 
and of how her mother guarded her with unceasing watchfulness 


124 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


during their brief vacations, and of all the safeguards that were 
constantly kept about her to insure that she should grow up inno- 
cent and good. She brought the narrative down to her mother’s 
death, and her own arrival in Boston, and then she stopped. It 
seemed impossible for her to go on. 

“There is nothing dreadful in all this,” he said, smiling at her. 
“ You have lived a life as innocent, as spotless, as an Easter lily.” 

She gave him one horrified, appealing glance, and burst into 
tears. 

“There is something else?” he said. Then, after a moment, 
“Never mind about it, Frances, my child. If it hurts you to tell 
me I do not want to hear it. From your appearance, and manners, 
and conversation I know that you are essentially a good, honest 
girl. And even if there is something else, — am I not, in a 
measure, responsible for it, because I did not do as I should 
have done toward your mother ? I do not ask you to tell me 
anything more, Frances, and I do not wish you to tell me if you 
would rather not.” 

What a temptation it was for her to keep silence ! It was 
like dragging her heart out to tell him the history of these last 
four months. And she need not ! But her sense of honor would 
not let her take advantage of his offer. 

“No,” she answered him, “it would not be right. I should 
feel like a liar and a hypocrite if I accepted your kindness and 
affection without telling you the rest.” 

The events of the last few weeks, and, more than anything 
else, her just accomplished escape from the evil atmosphere that 
had surrounded her and disturbed her vision, had made her 
understand more clearly and feel more keenly the attitude which 
the world would hold toward her. She took up her narrative 
again with a foreboding heart, fearing that when it was finished 
he would send her away and say that he wanted no such daughter 
as that. But she bravely told him all, keeping back only that 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


I2 5 


expectation of motherhood that had become her chief joy. She 
told her story simply, and without any effort to excuse or justify 
herself, further than to let him see that it was the unendurable 
loneliness and the horrible solitude and isolation that forced her 
into the way of life from which she was now anxious to escape. 
He heard her through in silence, and at the end, as she sat there 
trembling and downcast, like a culprit awaiting sentence, he took 
her hand in both of his and said : — 

“ I cannot see that you were much to blame. You were cast, 
helpless and unguarded, into strange and stormy waters, and the 
only wonder to me is that you had the strength to get out without 
more shipwreck than this.” 

She kissed his hand gratefully. “ My father, how good you 
are ! It makes me glad and strong again for you to tell me that. 
It will be easy now to live as I want to.” 

“ But this man, this Collquitt, — what did you say had become 
of him ? ” 

She turned uneasily in her chair. Harris! She still loved 
him, and her faithful heart could not admit to another that he had 
deceived her. 

“I — I — do not know where he is. He went away from 
Boston, and he never came back.” 

“Oh, yes, I remember. It was that mysterious disappear- 
ance that the newspapers made a sensation about a little while 
ago. They thought he had been killed, did n’t they ? ” 

“ X — believe so.” She saw that he did not remember much 
about the case, and although she believed he had deserted her, 
she could not find it in her heart to tell him all she knew. 

He talked with her for some time and was much pleased 
with the intellectual development she showed and with the 
simplicity of her nature. But the longer he talked the more 
persistently that ugly question would come up, — What could he 
do with her? At last he told her that he would see her again 


126 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


the next day at her hotel, and she went away with a lighter heart 
than she had carried for many a day. 

The Rev. Francis Hawthort, D. D., was the most fashionable, 
and at the same time the most popular, preacher in New York. 
His church was always crowded, no matter to how man) empty 
pews his brother ministers preached. The reporters’ desk in 
front of his pulpit was always full, and his sermon always 
occupied a prominent position in the Monday morning papers. 
He was interviewed more frequently and fully and on a greater 
range of topics than any other preacher in New York, and 
he was the one most frequently invited to preside, or appear, or 
pray, on civic or public occasions. His congregation was large 
and rich, and its church life active and vigorous. Nor was his 
fame confined to New York City. His name was known all over 
the country as that of the one preacher in the United States 
who could invariably, wherever he went, attract and interest a 
large audience, — the one minister who never had an empty seat 
in his church. And he was proud of this fame, and glad and 
thankful that he possessed such power. He tried always to wield 
it in the direction of purer, higher living. And, though many 
condemned the liberality of his creed and the tolerance of his 
views, all praised the vitality and every-day usefulness which he 
could infuse into religion, and were pleased with the amount of 
healthy, vigorous moral influence which his tongue or his pen 
always put into every subject which he touched. 

And now the question he asked himself and which had to 
be considered was, What would be the effect upon all this 
imposing edifice if he acknowledged to the world this new-found 
daughter ? After Frances went away he paced his study for 
hours, his soul rent by opposing desires. His marriage had 
brought him two children, and they had both died in early youth. 
His paternal instincts, like those of all men with large hearts 
and warm sympathies, were strongly developed, and, though it 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


I2 7 


had been six years since his last child had died, he could not yet 
look upon one that had any resemblance to either of his own 
without a feeling of pain. And, therefore, his heart went out 
toward Frances with strength and warmth. The way in which 
her story had aroused remembrance of his early romance, too, 
had helped to kindle for her an immediate feeling. He saw that 
her mental abilities were of no mean order and that they had 
been well-trained, and he looked forward to pleasant companion- 
ship with her. Her guilelessness pleased him much, and he 
thought that she must be a girl of singular purity of mind and 
heart to have passed through such an ordeal with so little taint. 
His observant eye had seen that she needed, above all things, 
guidance, protection, advice, and that without his helping hand 
that very guilelessness might prove her ruin. She was his child, 
he loved her, she needed his help and protection, and he was 
bound to give her these by every sentiment of honor and love 
toward her dead mother. 

But how could he do it without working more evil than 
good ? If he openly acknowledged her as his illegitimate 
daughter, it would surely create a scandal in his church. His 
life had been a blameless one ever since he entered the ministry, 
and he was proud of the fact that not the slightest breath of 
suspicion or slander had touched his reputation. And now 
could he stand up before his friends and parishioners and let 
them see how he had sinned ? It would not take the story a 
week to get into all the papers in the city, with such details as 
the reporters might not be able to discover pieced out by their 
own imaginations. Indeed, such stories travel fast, and in all 
probability they would get the true one, and some morning he 
would open his paper to find there, heralded by startling head- 
lines, the whole account of that early love affair and the subse- 
quent life of Annie Bertram and her child. And what a storm 
of scandal that would raise. It might even disrupt his church, 


128 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


and it would certainly impair, if it did not end, his usefulness. 

Was one soul more than many? The question chilled and 
horrified him, but he said to himself that his duty as a public 
preacher made necessary its consideration. It had become one 
of his fondest hopes that his work and influence might be the 
beginning of a newer, keener, and more practical interest in 
religion. What he wanted was to vitalize it, to infuse the basis 
of religious feeling into the general moral code, and toward that 
end he had for some time been working. And now must he 
bring all these hopes and plans tumbling about his ears ? Was 
it his duty to put out his hands to one soul at the expense of the 
thousands he firmly believed he could help and elevate ? It 
almost seemed to him that right lay in the direction of the many 
rather than the one, and yet he could not say to himself that he 
would cast her off. 

And then there was his wife. What would she say and 
how would she feel over the presence of an illegitimate step- 
daughter who had lived in a house of ill-fame, and who, although 
only twenty-two years old, had been the mistress of two men ? 
He knew very well what she would say, that the proper place for 
such a girl was in a magdalen asylum, and he knew, too, that 
she would not consent that Frances should be brought into their 
home. He could not even face the idea of letting her know that 
he had such a daughter. When he married her she was a devout, 
high-principled young woman, who, he thought, would be of much 
help to him in his ministerial work. But the years which had 
broadened, and deepened, and enriched his nature had narrowed 
hers, until now her notions about worldly things were as straight- 
laced and unyielding as those of the veriest spinster in the most 
secluded little town. No, he could not face the ordeal of telling 
her all that story, as he would have to do if he openly acknowl- 
edged Frances as his daughter. He knew her ideas too well. If 
he told her, or if the story came out in the papers, she would 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


29 


either separate herself from him, or give him the choice of leaving 
her or putting his child away. In either case fuel would be added 
to the inevitable scandal. It seemed more than he could do, to 
knowingly and deliberately bring down upon himself, and in him, 
upon religion, too, all this shame and obloquy, to make himself 
the target of derision and scorn, to give with his own hand the 
death-blow to his reputation and his usefulness, to cause his 
church to go to pieces and his work, only just begun, to fall from 
his hands. 

He tossed his arms above his head and sank back in his 
chair, groaning in agony. No, no ! He could not, he could not 
do it ! And yet his child, his child, who needed him ! He loved 
her — and she was Annie’s daughter ! 

The next day when he saw Frances he told her that it would 
so jeopardize his position to take her into his home and acknowl- 
edge her as his daughter that he had decided it would be best to 
keep all knowledge of their relationship confined between them- 
selves. He would find her a good place to live, introduce her as 
the daughter of an old friend, under his charge, and in that way 
he could see her often, and give her all the protection and assist- 
ance she needed, without endangering himself. 


130 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Dr. Hawthort remembered a member of his congregation, a 
woman who had seen better days, but who now supplemented her 
scanty income by keeping a few boarders — guests she called them 

— in the artistically appointed home on West Forty-second Street 
which she had been able to save out of the wreck of her former 
fortune. To Mrs. Mansenas, accordingly, he took Frances, intro- 
ducing her as Miss Harriet Frank, his ward, and the daughter of an 
old friend. Mrs. Mansenas had her house already full, — she never 
received more than eight and never gave a second word to any 
one who did not come introduced by one of her personal friends, 

— but to acccommodate her pastor she would fit up for his ward 
a little room which she used for “ a studio ” and take her water 
colors, and flower pieces, and placques to a store-room upon the 
top floor. So Frances soon found herself comfortably installed, 
not only in the house, but also under the arm and especial favor 
of Mrs. Mansenas. It all seemed very restful and grateful to her. 
There was an air of luxury about the place, for the mistress had 
kept many of her former belongings, and the pictures, hangings, 
bric-k-brac, furniture, were all very much better than trances had 
ever seen before. It all appealed to her innate artistic sense and 
love of elegance very keenly. But while she luxuriated in her 
material surroundings she also greatly enjoyed the society of the 
people among whom she was thrown. The inmates of the house 
were people of culture and refinement, such as Frances had 
always longed to be associated with, and as Mrs. Mansenas took 
especial charge of her and introduced her to many of her own 
friends she had no lack of society. Once a week she visited her 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


13 


father at his study, when they had always a long and most enjoy- 
able conversation, after which he would sometimes walk home 
with her. Once or twice a week he took her out for a walk in the 
park, or a visit to an art gallery, or a saunter through one or 
another interesting part of the city. Sometimes they walked 
through the region inhabited by the ultra-wealthy and he pointed 
out to her the residences of this, that, or the other magnate of the 
social or financial world, or they studied the street life of the 
teeming East Side, or explored the quarters where poverty and 
vice hide themselves. Sometimes it was a visit to the Stock 
Exchange, or to Castle Garden, or to some place of historical 
interest. But wherever they went the keen interest which 
Frances took in life of every sort, her quick, alert mind, and the 
intelligence with which she discussed all that she saw, gave her 
father much pleasure and made him quite willing to put aside 
even matters of importance in order to take one of these strolls 
with her. But the constant thorn in his enjoyment was that he 
must take this pleasure in secret. He was proud of her and he 
longed to be able to present her to his friends, to say to the world, 
“This is my daughter,” and to enjoy her society openly and 
without fear of consequences. But he reluctantly told himself 
that he must not think of it, and sadly resigned himself to circum- 
stances as they were, saying that this was his punishment for 
his sin of years ago, and that it must be endured without rebellion. 

As for Frances, she was quietly and keenly happy. Her 
pleasant surroundings, congenial associations, the active interest 
she took in all the novelties which the life of the city was 
constantly unfolding, and, above all, her father’s affection and 
delightful companionship, combined to give her a wider range of 
enjoyment than any she had ever known before. The shame and 
the disgrace of those brief months began to seem things of a far- 
away past, and she felt herself the equal of those about her. Even 
the coming child, though her love for it was still warm and keen, 


1 3 2 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


seemed a part of those experiences that were floating away from 
her, and she could no longer realize that she was soon to be a 
mother. The most painful interruptions to her placidly happy 
life were when her thoughts recurred to Collquitt. At such times 
all her surroundings were as nothing by the side of what she had 
lost. She mourned for him and longed for him with so keen a 
sorrow that she would shut herself up in her room all day and 
give herself up to tears and agony. So deep and abiding was 
her grief for him and the love she had lost, that, notwithstanding 
the wound to her pride in him which his desertion had given her, 
she felt that if he were to come back she could forgive him and 
love him almost as before. But when the spasm of agony had 
spent itself she would come out again apparently as cheerful 
and as happy as ever, and her keen interest and enjoyment in the 
things about her would supersede again all thoughts of him and 
their brief life together. 

So the days went by until Frances had been in the house two 
months. Then, one day at luncheon, Mrs. Mansenas told the 
ladies — only the ladies were ever home to luncheon — how a 
dear friend of hers had just discovered that for years she had 
been duped and deceived by her husband, who had been spending 
quantities of money upon a creature whom he had educated and 
then set up in a more elegant establishment than he gave his 
wife. One or two of the ladies responded with indignant excla- 
mations, and the rest made cynical remarks. One or two other 
incidents of a similar kind were related, and then the ladies fell 
into a discussion of what is the proper thing for a wife to do 
under such circumstances. 

A young woman with golden hair and a peach-blossom face, 
the second wife of a rich broker, started the talk in that direction 
by remarking emphatically : — 

“Well, if I were to find out that my husband was doing 
anything of that kind, I would make the money fly until he 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


133 


could n’t afford to spend any on other women. I ’d throw it right 
and left, and I’d gratify every whim I could possibly think of, 
and I’d get as much of it as anybody else did, anyway.” 

“A young friend of mine,” said a shrewd-faced lady, with 
keen black eyes and gray hair, “ who has only been married about 
a year, has started out in a unique way. She has told her 
husband that she proposes to do everything that she learns of 
his doing. If he gambles, she will gamble, too. If he goes to 
the French ball and stays all night, she will go to the next one 
and stay all night, too. If he ever comes home with too much 
wine aboard, she’ll get tipsy the very next evening he spends at 
home. And she has particularly impressed it upon him that if 
he ever keeps a mistress, she’ll have a lover. And she’ll carry 
out every one of her threats, too, for she is the most determined* 
little creature I ever knew.” 

“ How does her plan succeed ? ” asked Mrs. Mansenas. 

“ She’s been married only a year, but so far her husband is 
devotion itself and never spends an evening away from her.” 

“ I know three women, and one of them is a very dear friend 
of mine,” remarked another, “ who found out their husbands were 
unfaithful and who deliberately took lovers just for revenge. They 
didn’t care much about the men, but they did it just to spite their 
brutes of husbands.” 

“ But did they let their husbands know ? ” 

“ Certainly. There would have been no revenge in it if they 
hadn’t.” 

“ What did the husbands do ? ” 

“ One of them was very indignant at first and declared he’d 
kill her or the man, but he quieted down in a little while and now 
he does n’t seem to care in the least. The others just laughed and 
seemed to be glad of it, because, after that, their wives could n’t 
consistently reproach them or look hurt or be angry if they found 
out anything.” 


*34 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ Then their plan was decidedly a failure.” 

“ Yes, but they accomplished quite as much as another dear 
little creature. I know whose husband neglects her most shame- 
lessly. She knows all about it, or, at least, a good deal, and she’s 
trying to win him back by being always meek, and patient, and 
loving. She’s a regular nineteenth century Griselda.” 

“ Fol-de-rol ! ” exclaimed the broker’s wife impatiently. 
“The idea that one could do anything with these men in that 
way ! The only way to manage them is to get even with 
them, and I think my plan is decidedly the best. Don’t you, 
Miss Frank ? ” 

Frances had been listening to the conversation in silence and 
amazement. It was her first glimpse into the under-the-surface 
•corruption of respectable life. When she was thrown so suddenly 
and violently into that fetid maelstrom in Boston she never 
thought of the life outside of it, or of how it affected the rest of 
the world. To her it was a thing apart. And the only thought 
she had ever given to this particular social problem had been to 
tremblingly accept what she had understood to be the world’s val- 
uation of herself as the right one. So what she had just heard 
was a revelation to her. She saw, too, what they did not, the 
anomaly and inconsistency in it. Perhaps her wits were 
sharpened by the hurt and indignant feeling which crossed her 
mind as she felt how differently they would consider her, if they 
knew, from those “ dear friends ” they talked about. 

She started and blushed deeply at the question, and some one 
threw in the remark : — 

“ What does Miss Frank know about it ? ” 

Frances hesitated a moment, and then in her straightforward 
way replied : — 

“ I don’t know, Mrs. Symonds. But, really, I can’t quite like 
your idea. Don’t you think that looking at it in that way just 
puts yourself on a level with — with the other woman ? Makes it 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


T 35 


look as if you both just wanted the money and did n’t care about 
anything else ? ” 

An angry flush overspread Mrs. Symonds’ pretty face and 
she shot one indignant glance at the girl. But Frances had her 
eyes fastened on her plate and was thinking very intently, so that 
she knew nothing of the way her remark was received. A painful 
silence fell upon the table, which Frances, completely taken up by 
the impressions of the moment and her consequent train of thought, 
broke after a moment by saying : — 

“ And those other ladies that Mrs. Hallison speaks of. I 
can’t understand at all why they should think themselves any 
better than — than those women whom — their husbands take up 
and who — are outcasts. Can you, Mrs. Mansenas ? ” 

Mrs. Mansenas ignored the question and abruptly changed 
the subject of conversation. But the remainder of the luncheon 
was stiff and silent, and the ladies did not linger over the dessert 
as usual, but made haste to leave the room as soon as possible. 

That evening there was a knock at Frances’ door, and the 
shrewd-faced, black-eyed lady came in. 

“My dear Miss Frank,” she said, “that was a dreadful blun- 
der you made at the table to-day. Pardon my speaking so 
plainly, but, really, you ought to have known better.” 

“ What do you mean, Mrs. Anderson ? ” 

“ Don’t you know that every lady in the house except myself 
is highly indignant at the way you answered Mrs. Symonds at 
luncheon ? ” 

“ Why, no, Mrs. Anderson.” 

“ Well, they are, and you need not expect one of them to 
speak to you again for a week.” 

“ But was n’t I right ? ” 

Mrs. Anderson shrugged her shoulders. “ We won’t discuss 
that question, my dear. Even if you were, it wasn’t the thing 
to say in public. You’ll never have any friends if you talk in 


136 FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

that bold, uncomfortable, and — pardon me, Miss Frank — 
offensive way. I’m a much older woman than you, my child, and 
I know the world a great deal better, and I’m telling you this 
for your own good. Hereafter, when any such unpleasant ideas 
occur to you, keep them to yourself, or else confide them to your 
diary and then burn it up. And now let me give you another bit 
of advice. You’d better find another boarding place. If you 
were n’t Dr. Hawthort’s ward, Mrs. Mansenas would invite you to 
leave to-morrow. As it is, you can expect an intimation from her 
in less than a week that she would like to have this room again.’’ 

And Frances did not have to wait long. The next visit her 
father made to the house Mrs. Mansenas delicately intimated to 
him, with many regrets at inconveniencing him or Miss Frank, and 
much sorrow that they would be compelled to lose his ward’s de- 
lightful society, that she was so crowded, and had found her top- 
floor studio so inconvenient and so unfit for the purpose that — 
well, really, — 

And Frances packed her trunks again. 

Dr. Hawthort did not think it a good plan to close his church 
during the summer months. Although the larger part of his con- 
gregation was composed of wealthy people, he knew that the 
unfashionable, the middle class of society, always formed the 
majority of his auditors, and he was unwilling to desert these 
loyal admirers during any part of the year. Accordingly, he never 
took but a two months’ vacation during the hot season, and he 
never went far enough away to prevent his running into the city 
and preaching twice each month. This year he went to Long 
Branch, and as he knew that Frances’ presence there would inevita- 
bly cause curiosity and questioning on the part of his wife, and, per- 
haps, also arouse comment, he took her to a quiet summer hotel in 
a secluded corner of Long Island, where he put her under the es- 
pecial protection of a rfiember of his church, an elderly woman, with 
motherly ways, who was well-endowed with plain common-sense. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


^37 


To that place Frances went at once, and there she quietly 
passed the next two months. Her father visited her once or 
twice each week, and three times during her stay she spent a 
day in the city. On one of these occasions she saw Malquam. 
She was walking up Broadway and had stopped to look in 
a jeweller’s windows when he came up from the other direc- 
tion. He stopped with a delighted exclamation and a cordial 
greeting, and put out his hand with so friendly and affable a 
manner that she felt it would be too unkind to refuse the saluta- 
tion there on the street. So she shook hands with him, but he 
pressed her hand so warmly that she drew it quickly away. He 
talked with her for a few minutes, asked where she was spending 
the summer, — he knew very well already, for he had engaged a 
detective to keep him constantly advised as to her movements, — 
and asked if he might not call upon her there. She told him she 
would rather he would not come, because it would not do any good. 

He looked at her reproachfully. 

“Do you think it wouldn’t, Frances? If would do me a 
great deal of good.” 

She began to be frightened. 

“ No, no, Jack, — Mr. Malquam ! Don’t speak to me in that 
way. I do not want you to. There can never be even kindly 
feeling between us again. That dreadful experience I had in 
Boston is all in the past now, and I would like to forget it entirely 
if I could. I am living a different life, and a pleasant one. No, 
don’t come.” And then she left him. 

But, nevertheless, he did go. One fine day, Frances, from 
her corner on the hotel piazza, saw him saunter up to the hotel 
from the steamboat landing. Notwithstanding her cold looks, he 
greeted her with his usual suave and cordial manner, and dropped 
into a seat by her side. Fortunately for her, Dr. Hawthort had 
come on the same boat, and to her great relief she soon saw him 
coming up from the landing, too. The reverend doctor greeted 


138 FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

his ward’s friend cordially enough, for he had forgotten that he 
had ever heard this man’s name before. But the first instant his 
back was turned Malquam flashed upon Frances a look of sus- 
picion and jealousy. Through his detective he had long ago 
heard of her companionship with the popular preacher, and he 
had his own opinion about it. 

“ How long since you discovered this guardian of yours? ” he 
said to her in a sarcastic undertone. “ I dare say your new life 
is very pleasant indeed.” 

Malquam did not stay long. He had expected to find 
Frances alone and had hoped to be able to make some advance 
toward winning her confidence again. But he saw that he would 
have to postpone the attempt until some other occasion. After 
he was gone Frances thought she would remind her father who he 
was and explain that he had come against her express wish. But 
she so dreaded to speak to him of that bitterly remembered time 
that she could not bring her tongue to utter what she thought she 
ought to say. Since her confession that day in the study the 
subject had never been mentioned between them, and Frances, 
believing it to be as painful to him as to her, could not spoil the 
pleasure of their day together. So she at last dismissed the 
matter from her mind, saying to herself that she would speak to 
her father about it if Malquam tried again to force himself into 
her presence. But she did not see him again during her stay on 
Long Island. 

As these quiet, uneventful summer days went by, Frances’ 
thoughts began to be filled more and more with anticipation of the 
little life that was coming. To think of it, to plan for it, to 
imagine what it would be to hold the child in her arms, became 
the chief joy of her days. She would seek out a secluded nook 
on the shore and lie for hours on the sand, absorbed in a happy 
reverie in which remembrance of that ecstatic dream which had 
filled her with joy months before would mingle with quiet, 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


39 


instinctive delight in the feeling of motherhood which was 
growing within her, and with happy imaginings of what life would 
be like when all this hope became reality. And while she 
dreamed about and tenderly loved the little passenger on the road 
to conscious life there grew within her an intense longing for its 
father. It was no longer an occasional, spasmodic grief which 
she felt for him and the lost love, but a continual, ardent, 
unabated longing to see him face to face, to put her hands in his, 
to lay her head upon his shoulder, to be clasped in his arms. She 
felt that she would forgive anything, do anything, run any risk, if 
she could only have once more the comfort of his presence. The 
wish for him, the need of him, grew as the time of her maternity 
drew nearer, until it made her nervous and irritable. This 
condition, an entirely new one with her, who enjoyed usually 
the perfection of health and nervous poise, caused her father 
much uneasiness. He decided that it was too lonely for her 
there, and so, early in September, they were again in the city. 

He found Frances a home in another small and quiet 
boarding-house in West Fortieth Street, and they settled 
down again to the same kind of life they had lived in the 
spring. But they had not been back long when she learned 
through her lawyer of the disastrous end of the North Shore Rail- 
road, the sale of her stock for the pitiful sum of four hundred 
dollars, and the consequent cutting off of nearly the whole of her 
income. The Western road in which she had a small amount 
invested had passed its dividends, and its affairs had lately fallen 
into such a shape through competition and the cutting of rates that 
it would probably soon be put into the hands of a receiver. The 
only source of income which she had left was the rent from the 
two cottages in Jamaica Plain. At the time of her mother’s death 
she had received a sum of money in the bank which ought to have 
been sufficient to support her comfortably for several years. But 
as she knew nothing of the value of money, had never handled 


140 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


any, and supposed hjerself to be quite wealthy, she had squandered 
this in the most reckless way. It was all gone now except two or 
three hundred dollars. 

She was thoroughly frightened, and took her troubles and her 
woful face at once to her father’s study. She thought she must 
be on the verge of actual want. He reassured her, advised her as 
to better disposition of what she had left, and then, laughing at 
her fears,, told her that he had enough for all of her wants, and that 
she need have no apprehensions about the future. 

When she had been but a week in her new boarding-house 
she chanced to pass, one day in the hall, the mistress of the house, 
accompanied by a petite lady with blonde hair and a fair face. 
She noticed that the strange lady gave her a sharp, steady look, 
and if she had not passed on unconcernedly she would have 
seen that a flush mounted to the woman’s face. As they stepped 
into the parlor Frances heard the landlady say : “ The room with 

board will be thirty dollars a week, and I can have it ready for 
you on Monday.” 

But she did not hear the woman’s answer. 

“ Pardon my question, but is the woman we just passed in the 
hall one of your boarders ? ” 

“Yes, she is.” 

“ Then I will not trouble you to consider my references.” 

“ What do you mean, madame ? Do you know her ? ” 

“ I know about her, and I am intensely surprised to see her 
in a respectable house.” 

“ Will you kindly explain what you mean ? ” 

“ I mean, simply, that in Boston she is a notorious character.” 

“You must be mistaken. She is the Rev. Francis Haw- 
thort’s ward, the daughter of an old friend of his.” 

The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“ I assure you she is an adventuress and is imposing upon 
him. Or else she has got him in her power, and is compelling him 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 141 

to support her and answer for her respectability. I cannot be 
mistaken about her, for she has often been pointed out to me on 
the street in Boston as one of the most clever and successful 
adventuresses that ever came to the city. At any rate, I do not 
wish to live in the same house that she is in, and if you care 
for the reputation of your place you will do a wise thing to send 
her away before she gets some of your boarders, or perhaps you 
yourself, into trouble. ” 

The landlady puzzled over this circumstance for a day or 
two, and finally decided that, as she did not know Dr. Hawthort 
personally before he brought this woman to the house, she would 
run no risk of offending him if she sent his ward away. She 
would rather do that, she thought, than be worried all the time 
with the fear that something unpleasant might happen. So she 
trumped up an excuse about repairs that had to be made in Miss 
Frank’s room. And Frances had to move again. 

She had hardly got settled in her new place when the land- 
lady came to her with a regretful manner and a long story about 
a daughter and three children who had come in upon her unex- 
pectedly to stay three months, which would compel her to put 
Miss Frank to the trouble of moving. Again Frances packed her 
trunks, and again, after the lapse of half a week in another house, 
she had a similar experience. But she moved again, and after 
living quietly in another boarding-house for a week she had a 
call from Malquam. She had just come in from the street and 
had stopped in the parlor a few moments when he was shown in. 
She had to see him. He stepped to her side, and, taking her 
hand, told her in a sympathetic tone that he had just heard of 
the effect upon her fortunes of the collapse of the North Shore 
road and that he wanted to tell her how sorry he was. She 
thanked him and said that it had been a severe blow to her. 

“ I fear it has left you in serious straits.” 

She was struggling to get her hand away from him, but he 


1 42 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


held it close, and she felt his fingers grow burning hot as they 
closed upon her palm. 

“ Is n’t there something I can do for you ? ” he went on, and 
he drew her close to him and put one arm about her waist. She 
felt his hot breath against her cheek as he leaned over her. 

“ Frances ! Frances ! Come back with me to Boston and 
you shall not want for anything.” 

She broke away from him, and panting a reply that all her 
wants were supplied, that she didn’t need anything, tried to make 
her way to the door. He intercepted her, and with an angry look 
in his face sneeringly exclaimed : — 

“ Indeed ! Is it your parson guardian that is still taking care 
of you ? ” 

She understood this time, and turned upon him in horror and 
sudden anger. 

“ How dare you ! He is my father.” 

“Your father!” He laughed sneeringly. “That is a 
pretty story.” Then he changed his manner, and coming 
close to her again he tried to take her hand. “Now, Frances, 
what’s the use of putting me off in that way. You know 
I don’t believe anything of the kind. Come, now, little girl, be 
reasonable. You need money and I have plenty of it, and I’m 
sure I can give you a jollier life than a cobwebby old parson can 
do. If you don’t want to go back to Boston I’ll furnish you a 
lovely flat anywhere — ” 

But she had edged her way along to the door while he was 
talking, and before he saw what she was about she had darted 
through. She ran to the foot of the stairs, and then, seeing that 
two or three people were coming down, she felt safe and turned 
toward him, saying : — 

“ Good-bye, Mr. Malquam.” 

He dared not follow her in the presence of those people, so 
he simply bowed, said good-bye, and went out. 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


143 


CHAPTER XII. 

Malquam’s adieu was smiling, polite, and deferential, but he 
went out of the door and walked up the street with his heart full 
of impotent rage. He had been confident that the persecutions 
to which Frances had been subjected during the last two weeks, 
together with the loss of her money, would make his re-conquest 
of her an easy matter. When he went into the house he had felt 
quite sure that when he should come out again at least the 
beginning of an arrangement between them would have been 
reached. And he had been completely balked. Much as he 
desired to possess her again, he cared more about having been 
baffled, thwarted in his design, by this girl, than he did about the 
failure of his plan. He was angry with himself, too, because he 
had gone so straight to the core of his purpose. He had not in- 
tended to be so brutal about it, because he knew that was not the 
best way to take with her. But her presence, the touch of her 
hand, the feeling of her waist within his arm, had upset his brain 
and made him forget the plan of gradual approach by which he 
had intended to disarm her suspicions, win her confidence by his 
sympathy and advice, and pave the way for the accomplishment 
of his final aim so well that he could not fail to succeed. And for 
that time, at least, he had failed entirely. The fact angered him, 
and made him more determined than ever to overcome this girl’s 
fear and dislike, and bring her again into their former relations. 
It was characteristic of him that he never thought of reaching 
this end by any means other than roundabout coercion, by forcing 
her circumstances into such a shape that they would give her no 
alternative. This mixture of cunning with the disposition to use 


M4 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN 


compulsion was the key to his character. Like all people who are 
at once imperious and tenacious of purpose, the thing he had 
been thwarted in doing was the thing above all others that he 
would move heaven and earth to accomplish. Frances had 
escaped him that once, but the prospect looked black for her. 
This was a man who could hold his dark anger and his determina- 
tion for years, if need be, working slowly toward his final aim. Be- 
sides, he considered that she was virtually his, that she and 
Collquitt had outwitted him and defrauded him of his rights. 
And, as would any masterful mortal, he proposed to have them 
again, though all the world should say him nay. He did not 
believe that Frances was essentially a virtuous girl or that she 
was now living a virtuous life. He considered her simply a mem- 
ber of the class in which he had found her, and he felt sure that 
she was now under the protection of the famous preacher. As he 
walked alongHhe street he decided that something ought to be 
done to sever this relation, and that if he could be on hand when 
that was accomplished, the rest would be easy. But he had to 
return to Boston the next day, and for a few weeks it would be 
necessary to let matters here take their course. If he had only 
known the shape affairs were taking he would have congratulated 
himself with great delight and gone back to Boston with such 
commendation and caresses for Eva Collquitt as would have 
filled her wretched heart with happiness once more. For the evil 
seed she had been sowing had grown like a Jonah’s gourd, and 
had already sent its foul smell into the noses of the Rev. Francis 
Hawthort’s congregation. 

At Malquam’s request Eva had gone to New York for the 
purpose of driving Frances from one house to another until, 
frightened and worn out, she would become more willing to listen 
to him. Eva entered upon the project willingly, because she wa? 
anxious to do something for Malquam that would testify her love. 
She wanted to fan into life again the ardent flame, to awaken again 


FRANCES : A STQRY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 1 45 

the enveloping tenderness, that had filled her with happiness at the 
beginning of their liaison. The fear that she was losing his love 
embittered all her thoughts when he was not with her, and even 
when they were together his changed demeanor often made her 
heart ache. She was willing, anxious, to do anything he asked 
her, if thereby she could help to bring him back to his former 
feeling toward her. Besides, she had a motive of her own in un- 
dertaking this commission. Malquam had assured her that he 
knew positively what had become of Collquitt, that her husband 
had gone to New York with Frances, and that they were living 
there upon her money. Her ideas as to what would happen were 
rather vague, but she accepted Malquam’s declaration that down- 
fall of some kind for Frances would be the result of her efforts, 
and downfall for Frances, she thought, would result in sending 
Collquitt back to her, and enable her to get the revenge she 
longed for. And after that was accomplished Malquam had told 
her that they would be married. She knew nothing of Malquam’s 
real motive for thus persecuting Frances nor of his intentions 
toward her cousin. But filled with zeal at the idea of pleasing 
him, and with her own secret project to further, she entered gladly 
upon a work the very idea of which a few months before would 
have filled her with loathing. 

In the primary purpose of driving Frances from house to 
house she succeeded even better than she had expected, but in 
immediate effect her efforts were almost futile. At each place 
Frances accepted her landlady’s excuse in good faith, and cared 
but little about the matter except for the temporary inconvenience. 
She had even got benefit out of it, for, unwilling to trespass so 
much upon her father’s time, she had, with a little supervision 
and advice from him, taken care of herself during these movings, 
and she felt quite delighted with the feeling of self-reliance and 
practical ability which her efforts had awakened. 

But in another direction Eva’s work was about to have a far 

10 


146 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN, 


more serious effect than either she or Malquam had anticipated. 
It had been his intention to keep it up much longer, but he him- 
self put a sudden stop to it three or four days before he made the 
call upon Frances described in the preceding chapter. 

Eva expected him to reach New York from Boston on a 
Tuesday afternoon. She was anxious to see him, as she always 
was when she had been separated from him for a few days, and 
particularly so just now, because she wanted to tell him all about 
the results of her work. She was as impatient as a child for the 
hours to pass, and they had never seemed so slow. At last she 
went to Central Park to occupy with a stroll the last two or three 
hours until he would arrive. And soon after she reached the 
Park she saw Malquam and Maxie Sarto driving gaily past. She 
went slowly and wretchedly back to the hotel and waited until 
he came. But he did not send his card to her room until a 
reasonable time after the arrival of the train upon which he had 
telegraphed her to expect him. 

He entered the room and started toward her with an excla- 
mation of loving welcome. But instead of springing to him with 
love and gladness in her face and eyes, as she usually did, she 
stood still, looking at him coldly. 

“Why, Eva, my dear, what is the matter? Aren’t you glad 
to see me ? ” 

She turned her face away from his proffered kiss and glided 
from his arm. 

“ Did you kiss her ? Have you been with her all this time? ” 

“ Her ? Who ? What are you talking about ? ” 

“ Maxie Sarto. I saw you riding with her in the Park.” 

He turned away and she saw that he was angry. 

“ Suppose you did, what business is that of yours ? ” 

Her anger was disappearing in pitiful need of his love, but 
she felt wronged, and her pride would not let her give up so 
quickly. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


147 


“You told me you would not be here until this afternoon, 
and then you came earlier so as to spend some time with her. 
You deceived me.” 

He walked toward the door with an oath, and as she saw 
and heard she sank into a chair and dropped her face in her 
hands. 

“ If this is all the welcome you have for me I will go, and I 
will not come back.” 

She sprang up in sudden alarm. 

“Jack, Jack, forgive me. Come back and tell ^ne that you 
still love me. I was wild with jealousy. Do not leave me. I 
could not bear it.” 

She advanced pleadingly toward him, Dut he stood still with 
his hand upon the door. She had never seen him look so angry. 

“Jack, I am sorry I have displeased you. I am, indeed. 
Forgive me and love me again.” 

“ I will forgive you, but I do not propose to be spied upon 
in this way. Get your things and go back to Boston to-night.” 

She looked at him in amazement, hardly comprehending. 
He had never spoken to her in that way before. 

“ I want you to understand that I am not accountable to you 
or any one else for my actions, and if you ever again attempt to 
make this kind of a scene everything between us will be at an end.” 

He made a movement as if to open the door, and she grasped 
his arm and held him, so fearful lest he would go and leave her 
thus that she could scarcely speak above a whisper. 

“Jack! my darling! Don’t go away and leave me like this! 
Come back and tell me that you still love me ! ” 

He went to her and took one hand between his two, and his 
voice softened a little as he spoke. 

“ There, don’t be ridiculous about it. Of course, I love you, 
and will continue to as long as you don’t act foolishly. But I 
can’t stand such scenes as this.” 


1 48 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ But I need not go back to-night ? ” 

He smiled coolly. “ It will be best,” he answered briefly 
and firmly. Then he sat down near her and asked what she had 
accomplished. He gave her sparing praise, and at last looked at 
his watch and told her she had barely time to catch the boat. A 
little blaze of anger rose up in her heart at being thus summarily 
started off. But she did not dare say anything lest he would 
carry out his threat of leaving her. So she made herself ready to 
start, and was thankful enough for a little show of tenderness in 
the kiss with which he bade her good-bye. 

Her carriage got caught in a jam only a block from the 
wharf, and while her driver was threading his way through it she 
heard the ear-piercing whistle which announced that the boat was 
on the point of starting. They drove up just in time to see the 
huge structure gliding away, and Eva found that it was too late 
also to go by rail. She would have to stay in the city another 
night, and leave by the first train in the morning. But she did 
not care to see Malquam again in his present temper. She 
would go back to the hotel and would not leave her room again 
until morning, and in that way there would be small danger of 
crossing his path. He would know nothing about her detention, 
which, in his present mood, he might choose to consider defiance, 
and deception for the purpose of watching him, and by the time 
he returned to Boston matters would be all right between them 
again. At least, she would do all she could to soothe him and 
win him back to his old feeling. It was all her fault, she said to 
herself in the excess of remorse that followed her anger and 
resentment. She had done nothing but irritate and provoke him 
of late. She would be more watchful of her tongue in future, and 
would always be tender and loving. Still, it was not without 
some apprehension that she returned to the hotel, and as she was 
shown to a room she threw timid glances about her and started 
nervously whenever she met any one in the corridor. But she did 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


149 


not see him, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that she 
returned to her room after dinner, assured that now there was no 
danger of meeting him. 

Some time in the night she was awakened by the sound of 
voices. The room she occupied was one of a suite, the door and 
transom connecting with the next room being both closed. There 
was some kind of merry-making going on in that room. She could 
hear the clink of glasses occasionally and the gurgle of wine as it 
left the bottle. The voices, too, were very plain. They were 
singing, laughing, talking, and apparently were very gay. Listen, 
ing drowsily, just as she dropped off to sleep again, she noticed 
that the woman’s tones — she could hear only one woman’s voice 
— were very pleasing and musical, and that there seemed to be a 
number of men. Then she went to sleep again and slept, she did 
not know how long. But at last she awakened with a start and sat 
upright in bed, her heart leaping up in her throat. 

That voice ! And there it was again, a hearty laugh and some 
repeated word of praise that sounded like good ! good ! She 
listened intently, but could hear only the woman’s tones in an 
undistinguishable murmur. She crept out of bed and stood close 
to the door. There it was again, the man’s voice, joined after an 
instant by the woman’s in merry laughter. That was surely Mal- 
quam’s voice ! No other man in the world could laugh like that, 
for he possessed that most unusual thing in the masculine sex, 
the ability to laugh without pouring forth a volume of discordant 
noises and pounding the ear with harsh, cackling, unpleasant 
sounds. So many times Eva had listened to it, charmed and 
loving ! And now it rent her heart like a fiery blade. She must 
know, she must see who was in that room. Perhaps — perhaps it 
was not he. And if it was — but did n’t she have a right to know ? 
She had pushed the table beside the door and set a chair upon it. 
She climbed upon the chair, but she was so small she could not 
quite reach the transom. She set an ottoman on the chair and 


150 FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

was about to climb up again when the thought struck her, suppose 
they should see her ! And if it were Jack and he should see her 
looking through the transom ! But her nerves were strung so 
high with anger and jealousy and the merry sounds from beyond 
the door goaded her on so madly that she could not stop to think. 
She caught up a black lace scarf and wound it over her white fore- 
head and fair hair and across her face, and then in her night-gown 
and bare feet climbed up again. She held fast to the door frame 
and closed her eyes, afraid to look now that she had got where 
she could see. Then with a sickening fear at her heart she 
opened them, and looked, and saw, there in the next room, Mal- 
quam and Maxie Sarto. They were alone, though the glasses on 
the table and the chairs beside it showed that others had been 
there. Malquam had thrown himself back in an easy chair and 
the girl was perched on its arm. In one hand she held a cigarette 
which she daintily put to her lips now and then. The other rested 
sometimes on his head, was sometimes passed around his neck, 
and sometimes made playful little pulls at his moustache or stroked 
his face. All these details Eva noted, while her heart blazed up 
in fierce, angry flames. Then the girl began to sing. Eva listened 
intently, but she could catch only the words of the refrain. These, 
repeated several times, burned themselves into her mind, and 
haunted her, and made her miserable for months. For a long time 
she could not go to sleep at night without first enduring a season 
of torment, in which she would see again this girl’s pretty face 
thrown saucily back, her white throat swelling, and her eyes 
dancing down at Malquam as she sang the words : — 

For lips were made for lovers, 

None others e’er should kiss ; 

And if you’re not a lover, 

The best of life you miss. 

And she saw the actress at the close of each refrain bend her 
head and leave a long kiss upon Malquam’s lips. 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 151 

Eva stood there on tiptoe, clinging with both hands to her 
high perch, pierced through and through with angry pain. The 
blood surged through her veins in a hot flood, and in her jealous 
rage she bit the transom frame until she left in it the marks of her 
teeth. Her first impulse was to crash the glass and call out to 
these people that she was there, and she even drew back one fist 
to plunge it through. But a sudden thought arrested her, and 
she climbed quickly down and began tearing away the things 
from the door. She would batter at the door until they opened it. 
She would go in and confront them in their wickedness, she would 
pluck this girl from his arms, she would — She stopped, her 
knees gave way, and she dropped in a heap on the floor. Jack ! 
What would he do ? was the thought that had suddenly robbed her 
of her strength. The hurt of all he had said that afternoon sud- 
denly came back to her, and stopped the wild race of her jealous; 
purpose. If he knew she had seen he would be more angry than 
ever, he would leave her entirely. Had he not told her so that 
afternoon? “It will all be over between us,” that was what he 
said. Lying there with her face to the floor and her heart full of 
bitterness, she moaned over and over again : — 

“ Why does she want to steal him away from me ? He is all 
I care for, and I love him so ! I love him so ! ” 

She never told Malquam what she saw that night through the 
transom. 

There was something under the surface in Dr. Hawthorns 
congregation. Women making calls drew their chairs together 
and talked in an excited undertone. Men met each other on the 
streets and without stopping to say “ How do you do?” stepped 
aside and asked each other if they had heard. Wives told their 
husbands what Mrs. This and Mrs. That had whispered in confi- 
dence, and husbands recounted to wives the ugly rumors that were 
floating about, not only in the church, but in clubs and bar-rooms 
and on the street, — wherever men were gathered together. The 


* 5 2 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


first faint sound of the coming storm had vibrated against the 
big ear of the press, and a score of reporters were listening, 
watching, and investigating. 

The Sunday morning services were over and the congregation 
was dismissed, but it divided itself into little groups of three, or 
four, or five, and lingered in the pews and the aisles, and loitered 
in the vestibule, and stood talking on the steps and on the side- 
walk. In every group people were talking eagerly, interrupting 
one another, denying emphatically, or assenting with credulous 
faces. Dr. Hawthort stood hesitating on the pulpit stairs and 
looked over this unusual scene. Then he beckoned to a man just 
passing out of a front pew. 

“ Maxwell, ” he said, “ something has gone wrong. I have felt it 
for the last week. If you know what it is, I wish you would tell me.” 

“ I intended to tell you to-day, Doctor, even if you had not 
asked me, for you ought to know. There are ugly stories about 
you in everybody’s mouth.” 

The minister looked at him with staring, inquiring eyes. 

** About me ? What can they be ? But come into my study 
and explain the matter.” 

“The stories have been buzzing about,” said Maxwell when 
they were seated in the study, “ for two or three weeks, and there 
are two versions of them. One of them is — pardon me, Doctor,” 
and he fidgeted uneasily in his chair, “ for the language I must 
use. It seems outrageous when applied to you, but it is only 
right that you should know what is being said, so that you can 
meet and refute the slander. One of them is that you have been 
introducing into respectable boarding-houses on the strength of 
your name and as your ward a young woman who was really 
your — your mistress.” 

The minister started from his chair with a scarlet face, and 
Maxwell said to himself, “ Can it be true ? ” Then, as his listener 
did not speak, he went on : — 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 1 53 

“ And the other is that the young woman is a notorious 
adventuress who has got a hold upon you, and who is forcing you 
to establish her in respectable places in order that she may have, 
as your ward, a better field to operate in. These stories are in 
everybody’s mouth, not only in the church, but all over town. 
Dozens of men have asked me about them during the last two 
days.” 

Dr. Hawthort was pacing slowly up and down the floor, his 
head bowed, his hands hanging. At last he came back and sat 
down opposite his friend. 

“ Maxwell,” he said, “ I am glad you have told me this. I 
wish I had known it at the very start. I have no idea how these 
stories originated, but I will tell you all the facts in the case, and 
then I want your advice about what to do. The only truth there 
is in either of the stories is that the young woman really is not 
my ward. She — she is my daughter.” 

Maxwell gave a slight start and looked at him curiously, but 
did not ask a question or offer a remark, and after waiting a 
moment Hawthort went on. He told his friend about his early 
love, and of how he had been separated from the object of his 
affection, and how this girl had come to him some months before 
with proofs of her parentage, although he had not before known 
of her existence. He said nothing of the life her mother had led 
nor of her own experience. He outlined the dilemma in which 
her appearance had put him, and explained why he had chosen 
the course which had finally landed him in trouble. 

“ It might have been better,” he said, as he closed his story, 
“ if I had confessed it all at the beginning and braved the conse- 
quences. But it seemed to me then that the course I took was 
the only one possible. I tried to do the best thing for my daugh- 
ter that would be consistent with the best good of the church, 
and it seems that I have only injured both. I winder where these 
stories started.” 


J 54 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ I tried to follow them to their source, and as nearly as I 
could find they came from some women who keep boarding-houses 
at which your daughter lived. I don’t know whether or not they 
originated there, but I hardly think they did, for I understood 
that she was sent from three or four places because the landladies 
had doubts about her character. But I could trace them no 
further than that because I could not locate the houses.” 

“Well, there is the truth of the matter, Maxwell. What am 
I to do ? ” 

“ It seems to me, Dr. Hawthort, that the quickest and surest 
way to stop the talk and set the matter right would be to call 
a meeting of the congregation and tell them the story you have 
told me. I don’t think they will consider it a matter of any 
importance, and the whole affair will blow over in a little while.” 

The pastor wrung his friend’s hand gratefully. 

“ Thank you, Maxwell, I will follow your advice, and I hope 
your prediction will be realized.” 

But the first thing that had to be done, and he dreaded the 
ordeal, was to lay the story before his wife. He could not quite 
bring himself to confess it all, at the start, and so he said to her 
that afternoon : — 

“Mary, a friend of mine, and of yours, is in trouble, and wants 
some advice. I would like to put the circumstances before you 
and get your opinion, too. Years ago, when he was a young man 
he was deeply in love with a very beautiful girl. They were young, 
they were a good deal together, and they were much in love. 
What followed was, perhaps, to be expected, for they were — im- 
prudent — ” 

“You use very mild terms,” was her interjected comment. 

“ Perhaps so. His family did not wish him to marry her, and 
so they took him away. After they had separated the lovers they 
idled his ears with false stories about her and intercepted their 
letters, so that he believed what was told him. He never saw her 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


*55 


again. Soon after that he was converted. Then he entered the 
ministry and married. Not very long ago a young girl came to 
him and told him she was his and his early sweetheart’s daughter. 
There was no doubt that she told the truth, and he saw that she 
was in need. Not of money, for she had plenty of that, but of 
advice, and protection, and all the guardianship that a young girl 
needs who is thrown suddenly alone into the world. He was 
settled over a church where he believed he had large prospect of 
usefulness, where he had already accomplished much and hoped 
to do still more. He feared the scandal that would result if he 
openly acknowledged her as his illegitimate daughter. He was 
sure it would seriously impair his usefulness, and he feared that it 
might result in a rupture of his church. So he compromised 
matters by finding her a respectable home and introducing her as 
his ward.” 

“ Did he descend to falsehood ? ” 

“Yes,” and a flush overspread the minister’s face as he made 
the admission and felt his wife’s eyes upon him. “ He thought it 
was the only way out of the difficulty, and he took it. But it soon 
landed him in great trouble.” 

“He ought to have known that it would. A man, and, above 
all, one of God’s ministers, who has not the courage and manli- 
ness, to say nothing of faith in the Lord, to stand up squarely 
and speak the truth does not deserve much pity when his false- 
hoods land him in misfortune. But what is it he wants to know?” 

Her husband had turned slightly away from her that she 
might not see him wince and color under her words. 

“ His congregation is in a ferment over stories that have got 
started in some unaccountable way. Some of the stories repre- 
sent that the girl is his mistress instead of his ward, and others 
that she is a notorious adventuress who has got him in her toils and 
who is forcing him to palm her off among respectable people as 
his ward in order that she may have a better field to operate in.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


156 


“ He has brought the trouble upon himself, and it seems to 
me that he is only suffering a proper punishment for his mis- 
deeds.” 

He half turned toward her with an appealing, deprecating 
gesture, and something in his manner, coupled with the feeling of 
suppressed excitement which she had noticed in the congregation 
during the last few days, aroused a sharp, sudden thought in her 
brain. She looked at him keenly, their eyes met, and she under- 
stood. There was tense silence for a few seconds, and then she 
•turned her face from him and asked, in a cold, restrained 
voice : — 

“ Where is the girl now ? ” 

He hesitated, but he had begun, and now he must make no 
half work of it. His wife, at least, had a right to know all. 

“ She is in a private lying-in hospital.” 

She turned toward him again with a look of conscious, 
contemptuous superiority and shrugged her shoulders. She had 
cold, light eyes and close set lips, and carried always about her 
an air of primness. 

“Like mother, like daughter. What else did you expect?” 

She waited a moment, and as he did not reply she went 
-on : — 

“Was tnat the way she made the money you just now 
spoke of ? ” 

“ She inherited it from her mother.” 

“ And her mother ? ” 

“ Made it by keeping a house of ill-fame.” 

He had found the waters so cold that they braced him to 
further effort, and now he was plunging recklessly on, though by 
her words and countenance he could foresee disaster. 

“ Indeed ! And was the daughter one of its inmates ? ” 

“ She was there for a few weeks because she had nowhere 
•else to go.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


57 


“ So she told you ! She has probably been in it for years. 
But what do you propose to do with her ? ” 

He looked at her imploringly as he said, very gently : — 

“ That is what I would like to have you help me decide.” 

She knew what he meant, but a shiver of disgust passed over 
her frame, and, barely hesitating, she answered : — 

“ My advice would be to put her in a magdalen asylum and 
keep her there, where she can do no more mischief.” 

He made no answer, but sat beside a table with his head bowed 
upon his hand, and an embarrassed silence fell upon them. She 
had often thought that his actions in small things fell below the 
standard of conduct according to which a Christian and a minister 
ought to live, and in her own mind she had frequently judged him 
severely, but this was the first time she had ever voiced her 
censure, and what she had said seemed to her to have made 
already a gulf between them. His thoughts, however, as he sat 
there silent, sprang quickly away from their conversation and 
rested lovingly upon Frances. Mrs. Hawthort soon left the room,, 
and they did not meet again that day, and the next day they 
spoke together only of the most trivial matters, and tried hard to 
make their voices sound perfectly natural and their manners seem 
as if nothing had happened. The more she thought of the mat- 
ter, the more she condemned her husband’s conduct and the more 
repulsive it seemed. 

The church meeting was called, and the pastor, in deeper 
humiliation of soul than he had ever known before in all his life, 
went before his people and told his story. They were touched by 
the way the ordeal had worn and aged him, for he looked ten years 
older than he had seemed a few days before, and his manner had 
lost much of its former abounding life and warm sympathy. The 
meeting ended by passing a resolution of confidence and extending 
to him the continued good-will and cooperation of his parish- 
ioners. But it seemed to him that there was a lack of heartiness 


158 FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

and enthusiasm in the vote by which the resolution was passed, 
and he would have wished that more of his people had come to 
him at its close, and by words and manner had let him know that 
he still possessed their respect and affection. He felt with sting- 
ing humiliation that his confession had brought him only a half- 
hearted vindication. The most ardent of his admirers were 
astonished and disappointed that he had not been able to re- 
fute the stories entirely and stand before them shining and 
spotless. The more worldly were half-inclined to believe that, 
as by his own confession he had lied once, perhaps he had again, 
or, at least, had not told the whole truth, and that there was 
something more back of all this than he allowed to appear. The 
things he did keep back, however, and they were probably the 
things that would have told most in his favor by the sympathy 
for him they would have produced, were the recent episode in 
his daughter’s life and t*fce way her mother had lived. His wife 
afterward reproached him for not telling the whole, but he replied 
that they had suffered enough through him, and that to screen 
them now if he could was little enough for a man to do. 

The next morning after the church meeting he went down to 
breakfast with a lighter heart, glad that the ordeal was over, 
thankful that the affair had created no more disturbance than this, 
and feeling that now it lay with him alone to regain his lost ground 
with his congregation. He was particularly relieved that he 
would no longer have to conceal his daughter’s existence, but 
could acknowledge her anywhere and enjoy her society as much as 
he liked, and with this thought uppermost in his mind he picked 
up the paper that lay beside his plate. Conspicuous on the first 
page these head-lines stared at him : — 

“ Daughter or Mistress ? — An Earthquake is Rumbling in 
the Reverend Francis Hawthort’s Church. — A Romantic Story! 
— The Popular Preacher Makes a Confession Which Some Peo- 
ple do not Believe.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


*59 


Then followed a circumstantial account of the trouble and 
a detailed report of the meeting the night before, although he 
knew special pains had been taken to prevent reporters from 
entering. There were interviews with the sexton of the church, 
who admitted that he had often seen a young woman, elegantly 
dressed, go into the pastor’s study, and that he had seen her 
sometimes unlock the door with a key of her own when she had 
reached the church earlier than usual ; with the landlord of the 
summer hotel and the proprietors of the boarding-houses in which 
she had lived, all of whom told how frequently she had been 
visited by the minister ; with two of the women from whom the 
stories had started, who told how they had prudently sent her 
away because a woman looking for board had seen and recognized 
her in their houses, and had refused to enter a house in which she 
lived, because she was a disreputable character. The article 
mirrored very accurately in its report of the church meeting 
what he himself had felt to be its prevailing sentiment — the doubt, 
the half-heartedness with which the resolution had been passed, the 
feeling that his confession did not explain everything, that there 
was more in all this than he would admit. It ended by stating that 
the young woman who was the cause of all this commotion had 
been for a week an inmate of a private lying-in hospital, where she 
was awaiting her accouchevient. 

By night the whole city was talking about the scandal. In 
hotels, and bar-rooms, and clubs, in boarding-house dining-rooms 
and in homes, on the street and in theatre-lobbies, it was the 
prevailing topic of conversation. Dr. Hawthort’s house was 
besieged by reporters, and members of his church were button- 
holed at every turn and made to tell all they knew about the 
matter. The afternoon papers got out extras, and all day long 
the newsboys screeched themselves hoarse with, “ All ’bout de 
church scandal.” 

For two weeks it was the reigning sensation, and whenever 


l6o FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

two friends met who had not seen each other for a few days the 
first question was sure to be : — 

“ Well, what do you think about Dr. Hawthort ?” 

The prevailing belief outside of the church was that the min- 
ister had either broadly and entirely lied, or else had concealed so 
large a portion of the truth that his story was not worth much. 
Everybody said that when the facts were all brought together they 
looked very black, and it was only the most generous-minded who 
were willing to construe them to his advantage. 

Within the church there were a few who were his vehement 
partisans and defenders. But they were not many. There were 
a few also who took the darkest view of the matter, and declared 
that he ought to be asked to resign. The large majority were 
between these two extremes. Some of them took their pastor’s 
part in a half-hearted kind of way, but they all agreed that 
there was more to this affair than had come to the surface. Their 
confidence in him was undermined by his confessed falsehood, 
and none of them believed that he could have been so entirely 
deceived in the character of his alleged ward. And if he 
knew, why had he not put her into the proper place for such 
women instead of attempting to foist her into respectable 
society? And why had he never spoken of this “ ward,” except 
when he was compelled to do- so in order to get her into select 
boarding-houses ? The conviction grew, both inside and outside 
of his church, that the young woman was an adventuress and 
blackmailer who knew something more terrible about the popular 
preacher than even this scandal, and that in purchasing her 
silence by supporting her as his ward and in braving this 
storm he was simply choosing the less of two evils. There were 
not a few who believed that the child about to be born to her 
was his. 

Between Dr. Hawthort and his wife the division grew wider 
and wider. He wanted to bring his daughter home and she 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. l6l 

would not consent. Moreover, she was not willing for him to 
take any public responsibility for the girl. 

“She has proven herself a vile creature,” she said, “and 
unless you put her where such creatures ought to be, she will 
continue to get you into trouble. I cannot sanction vice by re. 
ceiving her into my home. Do you expect me to present a fallen 
woman to my friends and ask them to sit at table with her ? 
And what kind of a lesson in virtue is it for the young ladies of 
the church to know that their pastor visits and is seen on the 
streets with a woman who has a fatherless child ? As a Christian 
woman, it is my duty to society to discountenance and tread upon 
everything which has an immoral tendency, or is likely to exert a 
bad influence, and I not only refuse to receive her into my house, 
but I object to your giving her openly any further countenance.” 

“ Do you mean that you wish me to cast my child aside ? ” 

“ No, but I think the best thing for both of you will be for 
you to send her to a reformatory institution.” 

“ That I will not do. And if you insist that I must not be 
toward her a loving and tender father, and must not make amends 
to her for the wrong I did her mother, we will have to part com- 
pany.” 

Dr. Hawthort struggled bravely in his work against the 
adverse influences which were the inevitable result of the scandal. 
He offered his resignation, but it was not accepted, although he 
felt that the refusal came more from a sense of duty, a belief that 
they ought to stand up for him because he had done so much for 
their church, than from unimpaired confidence. And at last, 
when his wife went away on a trip to Europe and the whisper 
went about that it was a final separation, and was all on account 
of the alleged daughter, the distrust and the coldness of his 
congregation perceptibly increased. 

He might, in time, have lived the scandal down and attained 
again almost his former popularity and influence. But, like his 


162 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


daughter, his mind was always completely possessed and his 
actions dominated by the emotions of the moment. So now he 
soon began to feel himself irreparably disgraced. He believed 
that his influence was gone, and that to accomplish any one of 
those dear hopes and plans that had lately filled his mintf would 
be utterly impossible. The conviction rapidly grew upon him 
that the longer he retained his position the more injury he would 
do his church. Disappointed, humiliated, bowed down with 
disgrace, he gave up the battle. Sitting beside Frances’ bedside, 
soon after her child was born, when December winds were just 
beginning to blow, he said to her : — 

“ Frances, I have resigned my pastorate, and, even if it should 
be made, which is not probable, I shall listen to no request to 
stay. As soon as you are able to travel, we will go away from 
here and begin over again in some place where we have never 
been heard of.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


163 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Eva Collquitt believed that her husband was in New York, 
leading a life of ease and laziness upon her cousin’s money. 
Malquam was convinced that he was dead, and felt thankful for 
each week that passed and brought no recurrence of interest in 
the mystery of his disappearance. Frances supposed that he had 
eloped with Mrs. Andrews, and as time healed the hurt of his 
desertion she longed more and more sadly and intensely for his 
return. Some of his friends believed that he was dead, others, 
that he had, as they put it, “skipped with the woman,” and the 
general public had entirely forgotten him. Meanwhile, in defiance 
of all these opinions, Billy Hefty started for Albany brimful of 
enthusiasm over the idea that the missing man was shut up in an 
asylum or locked and guarded in some lonely house. 

“ I’ll have a three-column sensation for you some time this 
week,” was his parting word to the managing editor. “ We’ll be 
back, both of us together, inside of ten days, and don’t you 
forget it.” 

But after he had been in Albany a week, studied all that had 
been found out about the case, compared all the clews that had 
been worked up, and talked with the detectives who had had the 
case in charge, he reluctantly gave up his cherished notion and 
began to incline to the belief that his friend had been murdered. 
The elopement theory he refused to entertain for a moment. At 
the end of three weeks he was convinced that “poor Collquitt was 
past all help,” and began to think he might as well give up the 
search. Still, the fascination of holding on to a thing that puzzled 
and baffled was upon him and he kept on, saying always that next 


164 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


Monday, or next Friday, or day after to-morrow, he would quit 
and return to Boston. Besides, there was good shooting to be 
had in the hills twenty or thirty miles from the city, and it must 
be admitted that the longer Hefty continued his quest the more 
he looked for game and the less for the missing man. And at 
last he contented himself with keeping an eye out in the woods 
and in ravines and in lonely corners for objects which might look 
like dead bodies. He made long excursions in all directions from 
the city, but was unable to add anything to the most important 
discovery that had been made the previous spring, which was 
that the course of Collquitt’s carriage could be followed a distance 
of five or six miles, and that then all trace of it disappeared. 
One day in the latter part of November Hefty made a long trip 
of thirty miles or more in an entirely different direction from that 
in which the carriage clew would have carried him. He had just 
learned that there was some unusually fine shooting back in the 
hills, and he was anxious to try it. That carriage clew, he said to 
himself, had been investigated, and the ground all beaten over for 
miles around it, and it was of no use to go there any more. His 
murderers might have carried the poor fellow’s body off in this 
other direction, and he’d keep a sharp watch for it. He stopped 
at a farmhouse and enjoyed two days of fine sport. Then he 
decided that he would go back to the city, give up the search, and 
return to Boston. While he was preparing to take his departure, 
the old farmer told him of a queer character who for ten years 
had lived a solitary life in a little cabin back in the outskirts of 
the Catskills, thirty or forty miles away. It was generally believed 
by the farmers that he had been somebody of importance before 
he retired to his hermit cabin, and they had guessed all manner 
of tragic stories to account for his flight from the world. Hefty’s 
newspaper instincts scented a good story at once, and he decided 
to push on to the old man’s place and get him to talk. It would 
be good stuff anyway, and if the Mirror did n’t want it he could 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 165 

sell it to the New York Sim, which was always glad to get a thing 
of that kind. 

The season was unusually late and warm, and although it was 
almost the end of November there had been no snow. Under the 
clear sky and the warm sun Hefty had a pleasant journey over 
the brown hills and through woods that still carried their glorious 
autumn foliage. The farmhouses were few, and as he pushed 
farther on the distance between them lengthened. He thought 
he must have travelled at least twenty miles of the distance when 
he came upon a little farm on the side of a hill. He was not 
quite sure about the direction he ought to take, for the old farmer 
had been able to give him only the most general instructions 
about the road, and had even called out after him as he started 
away, “ The old feller may be dead by this time, for I hain’t been 
up that way for nigh on to three year.” Hefty saw two men at 
work building a fence in a field half a mile from the road, and 
he decided to go over there, ask about the way, and see if they 
knew anything about the hermit. Besides, he was tired of talking 
to his horse and felt a yearning for auditors of his own kind. He 
dismounted and walked leisurely across the field. The men did 
not notice his approach until he was within a few feet of them. 
Then they turned and faced him. With one bound Hefty stood 
beside the nearer one, crying out : — 

“ Harris Collquitt ! What in — ” 

But his exclamation ended in a groan of pain as the man 
seized his arms with the grip of a vise. Afterward, when he told 
the story, Hefty said : — 

“ He looked at me first with a blank, staring expression, but 
when I spoke his name he grabbed me by the arms — and I carried 
the mark of his fingers for weeks — and there came over his face 
such a change as I hope to heaven I’ll never see on any other 
man’s. I can’t describe it — I couldn’t if I had a whole news- 
paper to do it in. If I ever have delirium tremens, I’ll see that 


i66 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


face instead of snakes. It was n’t anything repulsive, it was 
simply awful, — awe-inspiring, you know, — the sort of thing that 
makes cold chills run up your spine and out through your hair. 
It was n’t a contortion, or a convulsion, — it was just as if there 
had been a thunderclap, or an earthquake in his brain. Then 
he fell over against me as limp as a rag, and began to sob like a 
child. We had to almost carry him to the house, for in that single 
instant he seemed to have lost all his strength. As soon as his 
sobs began to calm down, he kept asking me, ‘ Frances, Frances, 
where is Frances ? ’ Well, for the next six weeks he was as sick a 
man as ever pulled through the eye of a coffin and came out 
alive.” 

Come through alive he did, however, and one snowy day in 
February he walked into the Mit'ror office, where he was welcomed 
as one returned from the dead. 

Lossman wrung his hand in silence, for the two were warm 
friends, and there was a lump in the managing editor’s throat 
which that cool and steady-headed man would not have liked to 
admit. 

“ So you’ve come back without finding your man,” he said, 
jestingly. 

“ Yes, but I’m inclined to think he found me,” was Collquitt’s 
smiling reply. 

Then they sat down in the editor’s room and Collquitt told 
the story of his long absence. 

“ The morning that I left Albany it was with the expectation of 
finding my man in a road-house eight or ten miles out of the city. 
I had had such positive information the night before that I felt 
perfectly confident of finding him there. I got a carriage and 
started very early in the morning. By the time I had driven six 
or seven miles I saw that either I had been misdirected or I had 
lost my way, for the road had become less and less travelled and 
had led me into a lonely-looking place. I stopped, and looked 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


167 


about in search of somebody to ask for information, but there 
was n’t a house within a mile, or a person in sight except a man on 
horseback, who was coming along at a rather rapid pace behind 
me. I noticed that a buckle in my horse’s harness was unfastened, 
and I got out to fix it. My shoestring broke, and after fixing the 
horse’s harness I put my foot on a big stone beside the road and 
leaned over to tie it up again. I had been intending to ask the 
way of the man on horseback, but he suddenly lashed his horse 
into a furious pace, and that was the last I knew. I suppose that 
he must have sand-bagged me across the back of my head, though 
I could n’t swear that he hit me at all. 

“ That was early in the forenoon, and the next morning at 
daylight a farmer, at least fifty miles from that place, found me 
lying in an unconscious state beside the gate into his barnyard. 
How I got there is a mystery. If this thing had happened to any- 
body else I would n’t have believed it, and I suppose it is too 
much to ask any one to believe it of me. But it is true, neverthe- 
less, and is only one of several queer things that have happened 
to me in the last year. Of course, the man that did me up must 
have carried me there, for he also took the precaution to go 
through all my pockets and take out every scrap of paper they 
contained. He left me thirty dollars in money and my watch, but 
when the farmer found me there was not the slightest scrap of 
paper or anything else on my person that would give the least 
clew to my identity. He had even cut from the end of my shirt 
bosom the tag that was marked with my initials, and he had car- 
ried away my pocket-book, which was marked on the lining with 
my name in indelible ink. 

“ But the greatest mystery is how he managed to keep me 
unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours. The effect of an or- 
dinary sand-bagging, you know, would not last the tenth part of 
that time. The only way I can explain it is that he must have 
given me chloroform two or three times during the day and 


i68 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


night. I had an open buggy that was more like a small, light 
wagon than a carriage, and he could have stowed me away in the 
back of it, and covered me up with the robes and horse blankets, 
so that no one would have suspected what he had. Then, if he 
had hitched his own horse behind the buggy and turned in another 
direction, the change would have been so complete that nobody 
would have recognized it as the same outfit. Hefty tells me that 
the detectives were unable to trace the carriage any farther than 
within a mile or two of that place, and the way I fix it up is 
the only explanation I can see for that fact. 

“ The whole thing is a mystery to me. I can’t understand 
the man’s motive. If it was the McManus murderer who did it, 
simply because he had found out I was on his track, why did n’t 
he kill me outright instead of expending such a wonderful amount 
of pains and ingenuity in concealing me and packing me away off 
there into the country. And he carried me into the loneliest, 
most God-forsaken region imaginable. Although only fifty miles 
from Albany, it might as well be three thousand from that, or any 
other city. It is utterly isolated. The people do not see a news- 
paper a dozen times in the year. The farm on which I have been 
is a mile from any other house, and in a circuit of ten miles there 
are not more than three families. He must have known that no 
uproar from the outside world about my disappearance could 
penetrate the place. I think, too, he expected me to die and be 
buried by those people without ever coming to consciousness, and 
that that was why he rifled my pockets of everything that would 
give any sign of who I was. On the whole, it was a very 
neatly-arranged plan for making my disappearance as complete 
as if the earth had opened and swallowed me. 

“ And it came very near being quite as complete as that, 
though in a different way. The farmer and his wife carried me 
into their house and spent an hour or two over me bringing me 
back to life. But when consciousness did return, it left memory 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


69 


behind. The blow across my head had so shaken up my brain 
cells that my past was a complete blank. I did not know my 
name, or my business, or where I came from, or how I got there. 
I had simply a vague feeling that that was not the beginning of ex- 
istence with me, that previously I had somewhere lived, moved, and 
had my being. It was, I suppose, what the scientists call the per- 
sistence of physical consciousness. But that was of no practical use, 
and everything else had slipped from me, or, rather, it seemed as if 
all my past and my personality had been covered up with a 
big black cloth. I knew nothing. If I looked out at the window 
and saw the trees, the sky, and the sun, or went into the barnyard 
and looked at the horses, cattle, and hogs, I knew that I had seen 
such things before, and sometimes, after a little pondering, I could 
get hold of their names. But generally I had to wait until I 
heard, for instance, the word cow applied to a cow, or a dog 
spoken of as a dog, before I knew that that was its name. Each 
thing that came newly before me I could recognize as something 
I had known before, and I would have immediately a general 
perception of its uses and properties, and as soon as I heard its 
name I could recognize the name as belonging to that particular 
thing. But I never, of myself, recalled even the commonest 
things Everything had to be seen anew before I had any recol- 
lection of it. I did not remember, for instance, that there is any 
such thing as the alphabet, or that books and newspapers are 
made, until I one day came upon the two or three books which 
formed the library of the farm-house. I opened one of them, and 
found that I knew the names of the letters, and could spell out 
the words. I could read, too, though at first only slowly and hesi- 
tatingly, and with only a dim perception of the meaning. 

“ The remembrance of all that time is fading away already, 
and I suppose that before long it will all be a blank to me. But I 
can’t give you an idea of the queer way I felt. ‘ I did n’t know 
who I was, and I did n’t care particularly. My brain was torpid. 


170 FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

I simply stayed on with the family, and as soon as I was able I 
went out in the field and worked with the farmer. They called 
me Mister, and whenever they wanted to be very polite, and speak 
of me or introduce me to any other member of the scattered com- 
munity, they tacked on a handle, and I accepted Mr. Mister as 
quite as good a name as any other. It already seems as strange, 
as marvellous, to me as I know it must to you, but all last summer 
and fall I was as perfect a specimen of the unambitious, listless, 
lazy, stolid, stupid country kind as you could find in the whole 
United States. 

“ But there was one thing from the past that, though it did n’t 
quite penetrate my sluggish mind, kept constantly knocking at it. 
About a year ago, Lossman, I met a woman whom I soon cared 
for more than I did for any other human being, more than I had 
supposed it possible for a man to care for anybody, and a faint 
idea of her was the only thing in the past that I could grasp at. 

“ I said just now that it seemed as if there was a pall over my 
whole past and my own individuality, but at the same time this 
vague idea that somewhere there was a woman I had cared for 
was like a point of misty, flickering light, away beyond that dark- 
ness. I could remember nothing about her or her appear- 
ance, I only had that dim consciousness that somewhere there 
was a woman whom I loved. That was the only thing my torpid 
brain ever tried to bestir itself about, but I did try to think and 
ponder about her, and my consciousness of her formed a sort of 
rallying point, with which everything that I remembered anew tried 
to connect itself. I think that in time this vague notion of her 
would have brought me back to my former self, for it was constantly 
beating at my mind, and it was getting brighter and more distinct. 
Sometimes, along at the last, I could almost get a glimpse of some 
one portion of her features, her hair, or her hand, or a gesture, 
and if I could once have formed an image of her in my recollec- 
tion, or remembered her name, I am confident that the whole past 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 171 

would have burst before me, just as it did when Hefty came up 
and spoke my name. 

“ There was something queer about that, too. It would take 
a good deal to induce me to go through the experience of that one 
second again. As soon as I saw him I recognized that it was 
some one I had known, and I might have been able to think of 
his name if I could have stared at him for awhile. But the instant 
he spoke my name there was an awful ripping and tearing of all my 
mental machinery. I don’t like to recall the strange feeling, 
though, and I won’t speak of it, for I can’t describe it to you. In 
an instant the darkness was gone, and I saw all the past and re- 
membered myself again. 

“That’s all there is about it, I believe. You know about the 
fever I had, and how nearly I came to being a dead man. 

“ But there is one thing you don’t know, and that is what 
constant, tender, unremitting care Hefty has given me. He has 
saved my life. I used to think him merely a frivolous, good- 
hearted braggart, who by some special dispensation of nature was 
enabled to be a first-class newspaper man without having enough 
other sense to speak of. But I did him an injustice. He’s not 
only a good fellow, but a staunch friend as well, and he has lots of 
sound common-sense, intelligence, and information tucked away in 
his brain behind his Munchausen stories. He took as good care 
of me as a professional nurse could have done, and a woman 
could n’t have been more tender and patient.” 

“ Do you want to come back to your old desk ? ” Lossman 
asked at the end of their long conversation. Collquitt hesitated. 

“The paper did such faithful service and spent so much 
money trying to hunt me up that the least I can do will be to 
come back as soon as possible and give it my best efforts again. 
But — ” 

“ But what, Harris ? ” 

“ Well, I would rather not begin right away.” 


172 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ You are hardly in physical condition to get down to desk 
work at once. Rest and recuperate for a few weeks if you 
want to.” 

“It isn’t that, John. I’d as soon come back to-morrow as 
not as far as health is concerned. But — I want to find her. She 
has disappeared.” 

“ All right. We’ll start your salary next Monday, and you 
can take a four weeks’ vacation. # You need it, anyway, for you 
are as pale and thin as a ghost.” 

Among the things which Hefty carried with him on his search 
was a little memorandum book which he had found on Collquitt’s 
desk. He gave it to the sick man one day when the latter had 
nearly recovered. Collquitt grasped it eagerly, looking rejoiced. 

“ Where did you get hold of this, Billy ? ” 

“ I found it pushed under some papers on the back of your 
desk.” 

“ I must have left it lying there the evening I went away in 
such a hurry.” 

It contained mainly addresses, with a few memoranda on the 
last leaf. Collquitt turned hurriedly to the addresses, and ran 
them over until he came to that of Miss Frances Hawthort, No. 

25 Street, and wondered if she ever received that letter he 

wrote her so many months ago, and which, because he had forgot- 
ten this memorandum book, and could not remember her new 
address, he had been compelled to send to the old number on 
Chandler Street. 

As soon as they reached Boston he took a cab at the depot, 
travel-stained and tired though he was, and drove at once to the 
house in which he had left her. But she had been gone so long 
that the woman who kept it had almost forgotten she had ever 
been there. 

Then he went to the house on Chandler Street. Mrs. 
Aldus received him with a shriek of terror, looking at him much 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


73 


as she might have regarded his ghost. For the long article with 
a many-lined, black-lettered head announcing his return to the 
world and giving a startling account of his experiences did not 
appear until the next day. 

No, she had not the slightest idea what had become of 
Frances. The girl had disappeared months before, without 
taking the trouble to tell anybody where she was going. 

“ Do you remember, Mrs. Aldus, whether or not you received 
a letter for her here last spring, soon after I went away ? ” 

“ Yes, there was one came here. I distinctly remember it.” 

“ Did she get it ? ” 

“ Why, of course. One of the girls took it over to her at 
once.” 

The days ran on, and Collquitt spent them in unceasing 
search for the woman who had passed out of sight as entirely as 
had he himself nearly a year before. His vacation month was 
drawing to an end and he had discovered nothing. One day he 
met Malquam face to face upon a crowded street. It was the 
first time the two men had seen each other since that memorable 
day a year before, when one of them went away with threats of 
vengeance on his lips. A sudden blaze of remembrance darted 
through Collquitt’s mind, and with it came the thought, “ He 
planned my disappearance.” Close in its train came another 
flashing idea that made his head swim with wrath. He stopped 
in front of Malquam, and looking at him with angry eyes that 
made known all his words left unsaid, he demanded : — 

“ Where is she ? ” 

Malquam’s fingers trembled with the desire to clutch this 
man’s throat. But he simply smiled in a lazy, disdainful way, 
and did not answer until his slowly-lifted lids had allowed his eyes 
to travel gradually upward over Collquitt’s person and meet the 
latter’s enraged gaze with mocking defiance. Then he said : — 

“ What are you talking about ? ” 


174 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ You know very well whom I mean. Where is she ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” and the sneer in Malquam’s tone and manner grew 
more apparent, “ you mean that — ” 

“ Take care what you say ! ” Collquitt interjected, his fists 
clenching and his eyes blazing. Malquam had begun the sen- 
tence with the intention of provoking Collquitt into an assault. 
But the menace in the man’s tone and the look in his eyes gave 
him an uncomfortable sensation, and he changed his plan. 

“ That girl who used to be at the Chandler-street house ? ” 

He waited a moment for Collquitt’s anger to cool a little, and 
then he looked up with a* meaning leer upon his face. 

“ Your wife told me last night that she knew. You’d better 
go and ask her.” And then he walked quickly on, without giving 
the other a chance to reply. 

Collquitt stood rooted to the pavement a moment in dumb 
amazement. This man ! His wife ! Then he turned and took 
several rapid strides as if he would follow Malquam and demand 
an accounting from him. But he stopped presently, and, turning 
back, went thoughtfully on his way again. 

“ I suppose it is what I told her would happen,” he said to 
himself. “ But, heaven ! why could n’t it have been some man 
who was worthy of her ? Poor Eva! Poor Eva ! ” 

A few hours later found him in the little parlor of the suite at 
the Dighton Hotel. Eva entered the room, and the two stood 
looking at each other, just as they had stood on that morning a 
year before, and each waiting for the other to speak. 

Eva had lost a good deal of the rampant desire for revenge 
which had once consumed her, and all wish to give it an active 
expression would have been gone but for the subtle way in which 
Malquam constantly fanned it and kept it alive. Collquitt saw at once 
in. her face the signs of those ravages which indulgence in all her evil 
passions had made in her formerly gentle and refined nature, and 
a deep pity for her came into his heart. She saw it in his counte- 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


75 


nance and it softened her, for there are few people in whom a little 
pity and sympathy will not awake an instinctive willingness to play 
the martyr. She cast down her eyes and her lips quivered an 
instant, for by the light of his pity she caught one glimpse of her- 
self as she was now and as she had been a year before. Moved 
by the thought that she needed help, and filled with yearning pity 
for her unhappiness, he advanced toward her. She felt rather 
than heard his approach, and turning swiftly toward him she 
raised to his face a glance that made him stop. The enthralling 
fear of Malquam’s displeasure had risen in her. heart, and the 
thought of losing his love, which was the dominating need of her 
soul, forced her to throw an excess of zeal into the words which 
she spoke. 

“ Is not one invitation to go enough ? Must I repeat the 
command ? ” 

He felt very gentle and tender toward her, and so he paid no 
attention to the irony in her voice. 

“ I will not disturb you long. I only want to ask you if you 
know where she is.” 

“ She ? Which one ? ” There was a world of sneering insult 
in her tone, her manner, and her expression. 

“ There is but one. Your cousin, Frances Hawthort.” 

“ O, then you were not able to keep the pretty bird for whose 
sake you flung insults in my face ? A soiled dove, after all, was 
she ? O, she’s proven herself a pure one, I assure you ! And you 
still want her, for all her vileness ! A dozen men will dispute 
possession with you.” 

Her mocking taunts came quick and fast, and her spirit of 
resentment rose with them. The tiger in her w r as aroused, and she 
no longer needed the fear of losing Malquam’s love to spur her on. 
She saw her husband bow his head upon his hand, and the sight, 
instead of softening, acted upon her like the smell of blood upon a 
wild beast. She thought it was humiliation, and it made her anger 


■76 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


and her revengeful longing rise up exultantly and endeavor to 
make him bite the dust and trample him in it. 

“ But why do you come to me for information about the crea- 
ture ? Do you think I keep directories of all the houses of ill-fame 
in Boston and New York ? Is this another deliberate insult ? If it is, 
1 warn you, for I am no longer helpless and unprotected, as I was 
when you brow-beat and insulted me before. What difference does 
it make whether you find her again or not ? To men of your kind 
one is as good as another. Go back to the Chandler-street place 
and try living there for a month again, and you’ll find another who 
will answer the purpose just as well.” 

She stopped, more out of breath than out of words, for she 
had spoken rapidly, pouring out her invective in an unceasing 
stream, leaning forward toward him now and. then, as if she would 
like to spring upon him, drawing backward with a quick move- 
ment, throwing all her energy into nervous gestures and the quick, 
short steps with which she moved about. As she ceased speaking 
he raised his head wearily. Her words had aroused neither anger 
nor resentment, only shame and pity for her. and he had dropped 
his head that he might not see her in her degradation, though he 
must perforce hear her words. 

“ Eva,” he said, very gently, “ I see that you know nothing 
about her, and we will not speak of her again. I told you, that 
morning, that the time would come to you as it had to me when 
you would meet some one whom you would love with all your 
being. I see that my prophecy has come true, and I wish from 
my heart that you might have found a man worthy of you, and 
that your love had brought you greater happiness.” 

“ That will do,” she interrupted sharply. She had drawn 
herself up, and stood erect and still before him, her head thrown 
back, her cheeks flushed, her bosom heaving, and her breath com- 
ing in quick gasps. She was hurt in all the deepest places of 
her woman’s pride that he had discovered her secret, and she 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


177 


would have died rather than admit the truth of what he said. 

“ Your words are as much of an insult as your presence. 1 
am happier, a million times happier, with Jack Malquam than I 
ever was with you. Now, leave ! ” And she pointed again to the 
door, just as she had done in that other interview. 

He looked at her steadily without moving. “ One thing 
more, Eva, and then I will go and will never enter your presence 
again. Did you think me dead and are you married to him ? ” 

There was just the suggestion of confusion in her manner as 
she hesitated an instant, changing her position and dropping her 
eyes. But her overweening pride and her wish to gain Malquam’s 
commendation forced her on. 

“ Do you think me as vile as the creatures you have consorted 
with, or do you want to arrest me for bigamy ? ” 

He cast a slow, keen, pitying glance at her, from head to 
foot, for he saw that she lied, and left the room. 

The months went by, and Collquitt’s utmost efforts failed to 
discover any trace of Frances. He engaged a detective, who for 
weeks and weeks assiduously looked up clews, found her now in 
this city and now in that, each time raising Collquitt’s anticipations 
sky-high, only to drop him into the depths the next day. For the 
detective was Travens, and Travens, believing that the chief end 
of life is to get money, incidentally mentioned to Malquam the 
quest upon which he was engaged. The result was exactly what 
he had shrewdly expected it would be — a liberal reward if he 
would discover nothing. 

Summer came and went and autumn was passing away, and 
still Collquitt knew no more of Frances’ fate than he did when he 
returned to the world. He began to think she must have died in 
some out of the way place, or that she had killed herself, and he 
almost gave up all hope of ever seeing her again. 


i7 8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Previous to Collquitt’s reappearance Malquam had had a sec- 
ond visit from the man who caused him to believe that the missing 
journalist was dead. Even after Collquitt was again at his desk 
in the Mirror office the man came twice, and in the same round- 
about, polite, ambiguous way let Malquam understand that he knew 
what connection the financier had had with the mysterious case. 
Then Malquam gave orders that the man should not be admitted 
again to the office, and as he was no longer annoyed by the fellow’s 
pertinacious visits, and hints, and insinuations he began to feel safe, 
and congratulated himself that the course of bluff and feigned igno- 
rance he had taken had rid him of his persecutor. For he had 
steadfastly adhered to his original declaration that he knew noth- 
ing whatever of any one who was particularly interested in Coll- 
quitt’s disappearance. He was afraid to carry out his threat of 
having the man arrested lest the fellow might tell what he knew. 
So when the man’s cunning face, which had affected him like an evil 
omen, disappeared from sight Malquam settled down again into a 
feeling of security. If he could have known what other result 
besides relief from annoyance his course would bring about he would 
in preference have opened his pocketbook and said, “ How much 
do you want ? ” 

For this man with the face of mingled intelligence and low 
cunning was a desperate character, who had set himself determin- 
edly to the task of getting money out of this brilliant young finan- 
cier, who was believed to be coining it in whatever he touched. 
He was sullenly angry because his attempt had not succeeded, and 
he swore to himself that if he could not get it in one way he could 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


79 


in another. And so, during those months when Malquam saw no 
more of him, he was simply biding his time, watching events, and 
enlisting allies. He had made acquaintance with the night watch- 
man, — the ex-cab driver who had twice given Malquam important 
information, and who had been rewarded therefor with his present 
post. And he had discovered that the office boy chafed against 
the power Malquam had over him. It will be remembered that 
this was the little fellow who lost Collquitt’s letter to Frances and 
who was taken by Malquam into his office. From the start the 
boy harbored bitterness and resentment against his employer, and 
as time wore on the burden of his yoke increased, and with it grew 
the sullen wish to get even with this man who had mortgaged his 
sbul. 

As summer advanced things began to go wrong with Mal- 
quam. The shrewdness and dexterity with which he had formerly 
guided his audacious schemes to success seemed to be deserting 
him. His financial friends looked on with astonishment as they 
saw him employ blundering methods and make mistakes in plan- 
ning and in management which would not have been expected 
from any but a tyro in financiering. And the strangest part of it 
all was that he did not realize that he was not attaining his usual 
brilliant successes. He showed a tendency to boast of what he was 
doing and intended to do — a thing of which he had never before been 
guilty. His schemes grew larger and more daring, until men would 
not listen seriously to his plans. As autumn came on his friends 
noticed that his memory was impaired, and that things he would 
say and do one minute would often be forgotten the next. 

Never before had he spent money so recklessly as he did that 
season. He bought two of the fastest horses the spring races had 
produced and kept them in New York. Whenever he made one 
of his frequent visits to that city he could be seen, with Maxie 
Sarto beside him, guiding these horses as they flew over the Park 
drive. The stiff poker games through which he sat, the champagne 


180 FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

suppers he gave, his frequent “rackets,” and the money he 
scattered right and left were a constant subject of talk among men- 
about-town in both Boston and New York. 

A medical friend with whom he talked at one of his clubs one 
evening in the late summer said to him as they were about to 
separate : — 

“ Malquam, perhaps I am intruding my advice where it is n’t 
desired, but I can’t help saying to you that I’m afraid you are 
going at a more rapid pace than even you can stand. Just remem- 
ber, my boy, that you have n’t but one body and that your money 
can’t buy you another. And bear in mind, too, that there are some 
things medical science can’t cure.” 

“ Nonsense ! I’m in magnificent health. Never was better 
in my life. You need n’t put me down for a patient quite yet.” 

But the physician had noticed an occasional quiver of the lip 
and the tongue sometimes protruded and then drawn quickly back, 
and he shook his head as they said good-bye. 

Although Collquitt had been unable to find out where Frances 
was, Malquam, having more money to spend upon the quest, had 
located her soon after she and her father disappeared from New 
York, and knew all the time her exact address. The reader will 
remember that Malquam’s last call upon Frances occurred only a 
short time before the trouble in Dr. Hawthort’s church began. He 
had not suspected her condition until his detective informed him 
that she had gone to a private hospital. He imagined that she 
would leave her child in a foundling asylum, and that if he returned 
to the attack when she left the hospital she would by that time be 
tired of the preacher, and his way would be clear. To his great 
surprise she took the child with her when she left the city. He 
planned to follow her in a month or two and make a determined 
effort to overcome her resolution. He laughed a little as he 
thought of the child, and the plan flashed upon him that he could 
have it kidnapped and then restore it to her as the price of her 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. l8l 

capitulation. For he had lost nothing of the desire and the determi- 
nation to possess her again. 

Did he love her ? Unqualifiedly, he did not. He could not 
love. He had left the ability to feel that sentiment years behind 
him. He loved, and had loved, neither her, nor Eva Collquitt, nor 
Maxie Sarto, since by love must be meant that something which is 
higher, and deeper, and more enduring than physical passion, that 
greater which includes the less. Whenever a man starts upon a 
career of unbridled license he says good-bye to the ability to feel 
that love, which is the highest, and finest, and most powerful product 
of humanity’s evolution. And not only that, but he also gradually digs 
the grave of the nicer sense of honor and decency and of the power 
of feeling those sentiments that ennoble man and elevate his nature. 

In the early autumn it began to be whispered about that Mal- 
quam was struggling with financial difficulties. People smiled and 
said that Maxie was costing him dear. But there had been no 
lessening in his lavish expenditures upon her. She had long ago 
taken the position of leading lady in a New York theatre that 
made a specialty of comic opera, and as the opening of this fall 
season approached the glory of her gowns was spread abroad in 
the newspapers. They were magnificent, and their cost had been 
something startling. Then people smiled again and said that was 
why Malquam had had to sell Holy Terror, the little mare which 
he had bought only the previous spring, and of whose trotting 
abilities he was so proud. It was known, too, that the actress 
had begun to invest money not only in gowns and diamonds, but 
in New York real estate mortgages as well. 

Do you ask what was the fascination she held over him that 
had made him lose his head, had made him throw down at her feet 
his wealth, his financial reputation, and his hopes of future power ? 
When the savants who study this complicated nature of ours and 
offer us healing for its ailments are able to say why it is that vice 
can throw a stronger leading-string around the neck of retrogres- 


182 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


sive man than can hope, or ambition, or love of money, or of 
power, or of life, the question can be answered. But until then it 
can only be said that she was a Circe and could change men into 
swine. 

It will be remembered that Malquam congratulated himself 
when he first fell in with Maxie Sarto that his eye-teeth were 
already cut. No man of gay life ever yet passed his first youth 
without being confident that his mouth was well provided with 
implements of that kind. But if a man is much in the company 
of women who are engaged in the tooth-cutting business he may 
rest assured that he cannot get his jaws so full of eye-teeth that he 
will not sometime meet a woman who will be able to cut for him 
still another, larger, and more costly, and more painful than any 
that went before. 

During all this time affairs with Eva Collquitt were going no 
better than before. Malquam spent a good deal of time at her 
suite, but the things she crave.d, and which she longed for with all 
her soul, more than she had ever longed for anything else in all 
her life, his ardent love, his tenderness, and his caresses, grew 
constantly less satisfying. And as she saw his feeling for her 
growing colder and colder, her longing for the love he had once 
lavished upon her became greater and more intense, until some- 
times it almost frenzied her. But she dared not reproach him, she 
dared not speak to him about it, she dared not even plead with 
him. She could only be each week more humble, more watchful 
of his wishes, more loving, more tender, and with famished heart 
catch gratefully whatever crumbs of love and tenderness he some- 
times granted her. Her love for him was like that which sometimes 
breaks up families and causes a woman who has previously been a 
loving wife and a devoted mother to leave husband, home, and 
children, and go to the ends of the earth with some man who has 
crossed her path. The same devoted affection is sometimes found 
in a loyal wife, when it causes her to stand faithfully and lovingly 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


I8 3 

by her husband during years of drunkenness and ill-treatment, of 
curses and blows, to refuse to prosecute him when he kicks her in 
the stomach, bites her ear off, or gouges out one eye, to welcome 
him always with loving arms, and to be ready with forgiveness and 
affection whenever he manifests the least sign of repentance. 
This it is which has gained for woman her reputation for con- 
stancy. Is it well for her that she has this power which has caused 
her to be called “ the constant sex ” ? It has won for her many 
beautiful encomiums in prose and verse, but it is a quesrion if it 
has not brought her more misery than happiness. 

So grieved and sorrowing and so full of wishfulness for the 
love which was hers no longer did Eva become that she was ready 
to do anything he might ask of her, if thereby she could hope to 
reinstate herself in his affections. 

Spring and summer had gone and golden autumn was at 
hand, and Malquam had not carried out his plan of following 
Frances. He still held the intention, for he had not given up one 
jot of his determination to win her, or force her, back. He could 
not give it up, any more than he could give up any other thing 
which he had said to himself he would do. His temperament 
made it impossible. If he once set his mind upon doing a thing 
he could not confess to himself that he would have to relinquish 
it. By this time he had ceased to think or care much about her, 
just as he had ceased to think or care much about any woman but 
Maxie Sarto, but he still held his purpose, because it was the thing 
he had determined upon. And then he had lost his grip, too, 
though he was not aware of it, and this scheme had not escaped 
the muddling which had come upon all his plans. Just as he all 
the time expected to get everything in ship-shape order in a few 
days, so he had constantly said to himself that next week, or the 
first of next month, he would be ready to carry out his project 
with regard to Frances. 

As the first weeks of October came on Malquam was more 


184 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


absorbed than usual. He was pondering deeply and planning 
many things. It occurred to him that he could send Eva to get 
Frances’ child, and then, sometime, any time, he could follow up 
his plan. Yes, decidedly that was the best idea. It cleared the 
way in several directions. Then he laughed and smote his knee. 
Capital ! It would answer all around. For it would not only put 
h.er off the track, but it would get her out of the way so that she 
would not be there to answer questions, and the child would take 
up her mind so that she would soon forget. 

So he spoke to her about it. She was sitting on an ottoman 
beside him, and she grasped his hands convulsively. It brought 
back sharply to her the pain that froze her heart that day when her 
own baby lay dead in her arms. 

“ Not that, Jack ! Don’t ask me to do that ! ” 

“ Why not ? The child would be better off with you than 
with such a creature as she is.” 

“ But why do you want it taken away from her ? ” She asked 
the question hesitatingly, half fearing a reproof. But an indulgent 
look beamed down upon her from under his slowly-lifted lids as he 
smiled and patted her cheek. 

“ You have n’t much foresight, have you, my dear? Collquitt 
left the city a week or so ago, and I think he has found out where 
she is and has gone to hunt her up. If the child is there he may 
persuade her, for its sake, to live a more decent life. But if it 
is n’t, she will go on as she has been living, and get worse and 
worse, and drag him down with her. What has become of your 
wish to make him suffer for the wrong he did you and the shame 
he put on you ? She robbed you of your child, and now you can 
revenge yourself at one stroke upon them both.” 

She had ceased to care nearly as much for revenge as she did 
for Malquam’s love, and his caress, like a single mouthful of food 
to a hungry man, had only made more intense her longing. Every 
other consideration passed out of her mind with the thought that 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 185 

he wanted this thing done and perhaps, if she was willing and 
obedient — 

She looked up at him with face and eyes full of wistful 
affection. 

“ Jack, if I do this, do you think you would — would love me 
again, as you used ? ” 

Perhaps his heart smote him a little for the thing he was 
about to do, for he took her in his arms and kissed her more ten- 
derly and lovingly than he had done for a long time. 

“ I am afraid I have neglected you, Eva, but you know I’ve 
been busy and troubled a good deal this summer.” 

In a moment she was all tenderness and compassion, and was 
lavishing caresses upon him and reproving herself unsparingly for 
being thoughtless and unsympathetic. 

Her unselfish affection touched him a little, and for a moment 
he forgot everything else, and in a sudden burst of feeling he 
exclaimed : — 

“ Of course, I love you, Eva ! Did you doubt it ? Then I’ll 
give you proof that I do. When you come back with the child 
we’ll arrange to be married.” 

Her love and her gratitude knew no bounds, and she was 
ready to start on her journey the next day. 

Two weeks previous to this scene Hefty and Collquitt had left 
Boston. Since Collquitt’s return he had not been the shrewd and 
useful newspaper man he had been before. Malquam had been 
able to frustrate his efforts on several important occasions, and had 
done so in such a way as to make it appear that Collquitt’s failure 
was his own fault. Collquitt’s mind was so wrapped up in his efforts 
to find Frances that his work had suffered much in consequence. 
Lossman had at last reluctantly taken him from the city desk and 
put him on the staff of reporters. There the duties to which he 
was assigned gradually were made less and less important, until he 
was trusted with nothing but night locals. The conviction was gen- 


86 


FRANCES I A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


erally held in the office that his brain had not entirely recovered. 
At last Hefty said to him : — 

“ I say, old boy, come along with me to Chicago. I ’ve made 
up my mind to go back there. I don’t want to endure another of 
your Boston winters. What’s the use of your staying here any 
longer ? She’s dead, undoubtedly, and the best thing you can do 
is to accept the fact and be sensible. Rough comfort, I know, old 
man, but it’s the best thing to say to you in your present state of 
mind. You’d better leave here and get into a new place where 
there will be nothing to suggest her or the past. Come along with 
me to Chicago. That’s the best place for you just now. Stir you 
up like a tonic.” 

“ I don’t know but you are right, Billy. I know I’m losing 
ground here. Yes, I’ll go with you.” 

“What, Hefty! You don’t mean to say you’re going away 
now ? ” said Lossman as the two men shook hands to say good-bye. 
“ How can you leave with Malquam’s downfall rumbling so plainly 
in the near future ? Why don’t you stay and dish him up for us 
and dance a war dance over his financial grave ? ” 

“ O,” said Hefty, executing his usual double shuffle, “ Mal- 
quam’s going to the devil fast enough without any of my help. He’ll 
scoot into sheol faster than a toboggan could take him some of these 
fine days. And that before very long, too. I’ll bet he won’t be 
there a week before he gets his eye on John Satan’s Air Line to 
Purgatory and cooks up a scheme to cave it in by building an oppo- 
sition road and running faster trains. It would be worth while to 
spend two or three weeks down there just to see him persuade 
old Stephen Girard and the Commodore, and even old John 
Jacob, into putting up the money for a suspension bridge to 
heaven. 

“ I say, Collquitt, how much money have you got ? I met a 
man down street that I borrowed fifty dollars of last week. Had 
to pay him, and it nearly busted me. I’d have dodged him if it 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


187 


had n’t been for my bag, but I knew he’d seen it, and so I inarched 
up and faced the music. 

“ Well, good-bye, old man. When you get out an extra for 
Malquam’s failure don’t forget that Billy Hefty was the man who 
fixed up that pigeon-hole full of stuff in anticipation of the event.” 


i88 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Collquitt and Hefty had been in Chicago but a few days when 
the latter was despatched by one of the daily papers to Florville, a 
young city in Northern Central Illinois, to investigite a mysterious 
crime, concerning which accounts and shrewdly constructed theories 
were just then filling columns upon columns. 

Hefty did all he thought possible for the time being, and he 
had decided to return to Chicago, but the principal of the public 
schools proposed that he put off his departure another day that 
they might go on a snipe-shooting excursion. Hefty had made the 
acquaintance of the principal almost as soon as he reached Flor- 
ville, and had received from him much valuable assistance. The 
two men had formed one of those odd and precipitate friendships 
which people of highly dissimilar character sometimes make on 
no more than a few hours’ acquaintance. He had taken Hefty 
to his house and presented the journalist to his daughter, who, he 
said, was a widow, and, more important than all else, had intro- 
duced also her baby, a pretty little toddler that ruled the house. 
Hefty’s impressionable nature was much pleased with the simple, 
gracious manners of the daughter, and he thought her che finest-look- 
ing woman he had ever seen. She listened with interest to his mar- 
vellous stories, asked all manner of questions about his adventures, 
and so stimulated his imagination that he outdid all his previous 
records in his tales of “hair-breadth ’scapes and dangers manifold.” 

This afternoon, as Hefty and his host stepped into the carriage 
at the latter’s gate, she stood on the veranda with her child in her 
arms, and all three laughed at the little one’s efforts to wave a 
good-bye with its mamma’s handkerchief. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


189 


She went back into the house and busied herself with house- 
wifely duties while the child played on the floor. Every few min- 
utes she would take it in her arms, loss it up in the air, dance 
with it across the floor, or sit down with it in her lap and cover it 
with caresses and deluge it with baby-talk. The little one seemed 
to reciprocate intelligently all the love she bestowed upon it, for if 
she but smiled at it, with wavering, toddling steps it would travel 
toward her, or, impatient at its slow progress, get down and creep 
across the floor with a rush, climb upon her lap, and lavish soft 
baby caresses, with cooing and gurgling accompaniments, upon her 
face, and hair, and hands. 

The afternoon waned and the sun was getting low. It was 
almost time for the hunters to return, but she decided she had yet 
time to put away some of the baby’s outgrown clothing in a chest 
of drawers which stood in the dining-room. She was alone in the 
house, for it was their one servant’s afternoon out, and she and 
her father were to dine with Hefty at a restaurant. She emptied 
one of the drawers of its contents, and took out the paper that 
was spread in the bottom, intending to replace it with another, for 
this one was soiled and rumpled. She was about to throw it on 
the floor when a head-line caught her eye, and she stopped to 
glance at the article. The baby had crept into the kitchen and 
was investigating the long bands of red sunshine that lay across 
the floor. She noticed that the paper was a New York Herald , , 
six months old, and wondered how it happened to be there. She 
did not remember that there had been a Herald in the house since 
they had been in Florville. She glanced carelessly over it and 
her eye happened to rest upon the column of “Personals.” The 
baby had tired of the sunshine, and was clinging to the wail and 
fingering the unlatched outside door. She saw a name that made 
her heart leap against her side and her head swim. The paper shook 
so that the letters all ran into one another. She grasped it in both 
hands and held it close to her face, and this is what she read : — 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


190 


“ $100 reward to anyone who will bring me information of the present 
whereabouts of Miss Frances Hawthort, who, during the months of March and 

April, 188—, occupied rooms at 25 Street, Boston. Address, Harris 

Collquitt, Mirror office, Boston, Mass.” 

The front door opened and she heard the voices of her father 
and Hefty in the hall. A little draught had blown through and 
opened the unlatched kitchen door, and the baby, gurgling its 
approval, was climbing out. With ears and eyes deaf and blind 
to everything but this one supreme fact which had burst upon her, 
she rushed through the hall, crying out : — 

“ Father ! father ! He is not dead ! He has looked for me ! ” 

She thrust the paper into her father’s hands, and, with one 
finger on the advertisement, exclaimed : — 

“ Read it ! read it ! ” 

And then, overcome by the sudden joy of it, she sank fainting 
upon the floor. Hefty’s eyes followed her finger, and the first 
glance revealed to him the situation. 

“Jupiter, man! Is your daughter the Frances Hawthort 
that Collquitt has been hunting high and low for ? ” 

“ That is my daughter’s real name.” 

“Then I’ll have him here as quick as steam can carry him. 
Why, he’s my best friend. He’s in Chicago now, and he’s given 
her up for dead.” 

Hefty rushed from the house and ran to the depot, which he 
reached, panting, puffing, and perspiring, just as a northern bound 
train was leaving the station. By some strange mental freak, which 
he never was able to understand, he jumped aboard the train 
instead of sending a telegram. Probably it was because his excited, 
enthusiastic mind was filled to the brim with the idea of personally 
telling Collquitt the great good news. He was half way to Chicago 
before it occurred to him that he might just as well have tele- 
graphed. Collquitt could n’t start until the next morning anyway, 
and he ought to have stayed in Florville, for those people would 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 191 

undoubtedly need him. He fumed and swore at himself for his 
stupidity. But before that time the next night he was supremely 
thankful that he had been “ stupid.” 

To this day he considers the preoccupation in which he jumped 
aboard that train the most fortunate state of mind that ever pos- 
sessed him. 

While these things were going on inside the house, a woman 
was standing on the sidewalk of the cross street, near the side gate 
of the yard. She was a young-looking woman, with fair hair and 
restless eyes, and a face expressive of turbulent emotions. She 
was watching the baby, which had climbed over the threshold and 
was trotting about over a wide platform built from the back door. 
She leaned over the fence and looked at it curiously and intently. 
It stretched out one hand towards her and in childish prattle tried 
to tell her its enjoyment of this unaccustomed liberty. Standing 
so, with its face toward her, its resemblance to Collquitt smote her 
to the heart. His features were plainly to be seen in its face, just 
as they had been in her own dead baby. If the little ones could 
have been put side by side they would have been so alike ! Yes, 
it was his child. And sudden hate of it flamed up in her heart. It 
was his child, the child of the love which had robbed her of her 
own darling, of the love that had stolen her innocence. For one 
instant she saw what a wretched, wretched woman she had become, 
and she turned toward the child a look of fierce, malignant hatred. 
Suddenly she remembered she had come to get it. Her hand was 
on the gate, but the thought made her turn away in repulsion. She 
shuddered at the idea of touching it. And Malquam wanted her 
to carry the little imp back to Boston! She could not! Why 
did n’t it die ? If there were any justice in heaven it would. She 
faced toward it again and saw that it was trotting with uncertain 
steps towards an open well or cistern in the platform. A work- 
man had been putting in a pump and had gone away and left it 
open. She leaned breathlessly over the gate. The little one stood 


192 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


tottering at the brink and peered into the opening. A whirlwind 
of thoughts had dashed through her brain. It would fall in and 
be killed — she could save it — it ought to die — Jack would be all 
the better pleased — her baby had been killed — let it die — it 
was his child — she hated it — should she save it — she could not 
touch it — The child tried to turn away, it lost its balance, it 
wavered for an instant, and then she heard a little cry of terror 
and saw a frightened, distorted, baby face, and heard the little form 
dash against the side of the well and then strike dully upon the 
water. She stood for a moment grasping the gate as if frozen in 
that position. Then, staggering backward, she started away upon 
a run. She did not stop until, panting, wild-eyed, and breathless, 
she rushed into her room at the hotel and fell headlong, face down- 
ward, upon the floor. That baby cry of terror rang in her ears 
and she could not shut out of her hot, dry eyes the haunting vision 
of that frightened, childish face. 

“ I am a murderer, a murderer ! ” she moaned, and in the 
anguish of her soul she writhed upon the floor. “ I could have 
saved it and I did not. Its blood is on my hands,” and she thrust 
them into the folds of her dress that the sight of them might not 
stab her eyes. “ Oh, why did n’t I save it, why did n’t I save it ! 
I killed it, I am a murderer ! No, no, that did not make it right,” 
— her mind had gone back to her own dead baby. “ It would 
not bring back my little darling. Oh, I am a wicked, wicked 
woman ! But I did it for him. Will he love me now that I’ve 
got blood on my hands ? Oh, he must, he must ! I can’t endure 
it unless he does. It was for him. I would n’t have done it for 
anything on earth but his love. Would he cast me off now that 
I’ve done murder for his sake ? He must love me ! But, oh, I 
am so wicked, wicked ! ” 

The sun went down and darkness fell upon the earth, and the 
stars came out and saw this woman, terror-struck by the awful sin 
she had committed, and helpless and writhing under its crushing 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


J 93 


weight, still lying there in the dark and silent room, face downward 
upon the floor, her trembling hands clutching the carpet, her eyes 
seeing always that frightened, baby face, and that cry of childish 
terror ringing always in her ears. 

As the hours of the night wore on she grew calmer. She sat 
up on the floor, and with her burning head pressed upon her knees 
she looked into her past. Her inward vision grew clearer, and she 
saw herself as she had been once and saw herself as she was now, 
and knew that it was her love of Malquam that had poisoned 
her soul, and led her on, step by step, until her feet had laid hold 
on hell in this last deed. She judged herself unsparingly. From 
away back in her past, from the days when she went to church and 
Sunday school, — it seemed centuries ago, — there came a stern, 
high sounding sentence : “By their fruits ye shall know them.” 

“ It has made me wicked and it has done harm to everything 
it has touched. So it must have been an evil love. What made 
it so wicked, I wonder? It must have been because it came out 
of my anger toward Harris, and because I hated him so and 
wanted to do him harm. I let myself love Jack because I was 
enraged at Harris. That was what made me wicked in the first 
place, and if I had n’t begun to be bad through that perhaps this 
wicked love would never have got hold of me. It was because 
Harris loved her instead of me that I felt that way toward him. I 
remember it so well! He told me that he didn’t love me any 
more, and that it would n’t be right for us to live together. And 
I would n’t believe it, I would n’t listen to it, because I thought it 
was so vile ! But he was right, yes, I know now that he was right. 
I thought then I loved him, but I did n’t. I know now that I 
did n’t. I only liked him and admired him. I’ve learned what 
love is since then. And I would n’t believe but that they 
were vile and bad. It was I that was vile, for I wanted to keep 
Harris when I knew he did n’t love me any longer. All this 
wrong and suffering is my fault. It has all come out of my anger, 
13 


T94 FRANCES I A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

and hatred, and jealousy. She can’t be the vile woman Jack has 
always told me. I’m sure this man is her father, just as he said. 
Anyway, she is as good a woman as I am. Perhaps Harris was 
right. Perhaps she’s better and purer than I. And I’ve mur- 
dered her baby. And I’ve helped Jack to keep them apart. I 
wonder if she has loved him and longed for him all this time, and 
wanted his love as I do Jack’s. He’s in Chicago. I’ll go and 
tell her. Perhaps that will partly make amends for all the evil 
I’ve done her. It will help to take the blood off my hands,” and 
she wrapped them hastily in her dress and turned her head away, 
sickened and shivering with horror of herself. “Yes, I’ll go and 
tell her. It will be a little good after all the wrong I’ve done.” 
And she rose up and went out into the night. 

When they took the dead baby out of the well and carried it 
into the house its mother met them with set lips and tearless eyes. 
She took the little form, not heeding in the least their gentle re- 
sistance and remonstrance. She sat with it in the low rocking- 
chair in which she was accustomed to sing it to sleep every night, 
and calmly took off its wet clothes. 

“ Bring me his night-gown. It is time for him to go to sleep,” 
she said, and when she had put on the little night clothes she 
added, “ I think you had better bring me a blanket to wrap him 
in. I’m afraid he’ll take cold after all this exposure.” 

She wrapped the blanket tenderly around the poor, cold 
frame, tucked in its feet and carefully covered its hands and arms. 
Then she gathered the lifeless bundle close in her arms and rocked 
and sang to it in a low, sweet voice, just as she had done every 
night since it was born. Hour after hour the chair swayed to and 
fro and the lullaby songs floated gently out into the night, while 
she cuddled the little cold head against her bosom and shaded 
from the light the dead, staring eyes. Sometimes she would talk 
to it in those cooing little words and tones that only mothers and 
babies understand, and again she would playfully reproach it 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


95 


because it did not go to sleep, or with brooding mother-love in her 
voice would ask what was the matter, if it were sick, and what 
should mamma do to make it well ? Sometimes she would chant 
in a low, melodious monotone what seemed to be an improvised 
lullaby, playfully and lovingly caressing each part as she sang : — 
Ij)ear little eyes, 

And cunning nose, 

Oh, sweetest mouth, 

And small pink toes, 

Oh, dimpled chin, 

And cheeks so fair, 

Oh, shell-like ears, 

And curly hair. 

And so she went on until she would suddenly observe that the 
blanket had dropped away ; then she would carefully tuck the little 
body all up again, and, cuddling it in her arms, say how cold her 
baby was. 

If any one approached her and by words or manner let her 
know that they wished to take the child from her, she would say, 
no, she was not tired, she preferred to put him to sleep herself, 
and she could not rest unless he were asleep. If they insisted 
and tried to take it from her, her eyes would blaze and she would 
angrily order them away. At last the physician said it would not 
do, that there was imminent danger of making her violently 
insane if they attempted to take it away by force, and that they 
could only wait a few hours and see if her mania would not gradu- 
ally disappear. 

The night was far spent and still she sat there rocking the 
little form that was clasped to her breast and softly singing lulla- 
bies, when a woman came to the door. 

“ Let me see her. I must tell her something,” she said to 
the little group of people gathered at the other side of the 
room. 

“ It would do no good. She would not understand you, for 


196 FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

she pays no attention to anything but the dead body of her child.” 

“ But it is something she wants to know. She will listen to 
this, I am sure. Let me tell her! ” pleaded the woman. 

“ Well, you might try it. Perhaps it will arouse her. But 
don’t say anything about the child.” 

They made way for her and she passed into the room. One 
glance at the swaying figure with the little body clasped close in 
its arms revealed to Eva her cousin’s condition. The sight was 
too much for her overcharged heart, and she dropped upon her 
knees, her frame shaking with dry sobs, her hands stretched out 
in pitiful supplication. She tried to rise, but her strength had 
deserted her, and half crawling, half walking upon her knees, she 
made her way across the floor. She reached out her hand and 
timidly, fearingly, plucked the hem of Frances’ dress. But the 
girl took no notice, and, sobbing and hesitating, she pushed her 
hand upward and grasped her cousin’s wrist. Then she spoke in 
an eager, high whisper : — 

“ Frances ! Frances ! I know where he is ! ” 

The girl took away her hand, and, still rocking and singing, 
caressed the baby’s forehead. 

“ Frances, do you want Harris ? He is in Chicago.” 

At the sound of Harris’ name Frances looked at Eva, as if 
vaguely understanding that it was something which concerned her, 
and then turned again to the child. 

Eva saw that her efforts were in vain, and dropped her head 
despairingly in her hands. The physician helped her to the door 
and she turned to Frances’ father. 

“ You will tell her after — after she gets over this. You can 
find him.” 

“ Do you mean Harris Collquitt ? ” 

“ Yes. I was his wife once and I’ve done, oh, so much evil 
to both of them, — and to you, — and I thought I could partly 
make amends for it if I let her know where he is.” 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


197 


“ Your repentance comes too late to be of any use. We know 
where he is, and he is to be here to-morrow.” 

All the wistful hope left Eva’s face and a deathly pallor 
overspread it as she heard these words. Glancing back at Frances 
with a terrified look in her eyes, she spoke, and there was a moan 
in every word. 

“ Too late, too late ! And I so wanted to do her some good ! 
I wanted to make amends ! There is nothing else ! nothing ! ” 

She went out into the night again, and as she hurried through 
the darkness her thoughts ran back to Malquam. 

“ I will go back to him and tell him, and if he casts me off 
for my wickedness — there will be nothing more for me. I know 
he is bad, and I know my love for him has made me bad. But I 
love him, I love him, and I’d rather be with him and have his love, 
though it made me as wicked as the devil himself, than be a saint 
without him. I must be with him, I must love him. Perhaps he 
will love me now. I will go back.” 

After she was gone the physician said to Dr. Hawthort : — 

“ Is this Harris Collquitt some one for whom she cares ? ” 

“ Yes, very much.” 

“ And you expect him to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes, on the one o’clock train.” 

“ The shock of joy when she sees him may restore her reason. 
I will tell you frankly that I fear it is her only chance.” 


FRANCES t A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


198 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The October sun shone warm and hazy, for it was Indian sum- 
mer, over an Illinois plain, a wide, low, level expanse. The bed 
of a little stream wound across the prairie, its course marked here 
and there by clumps of willows, and again by gaping, clayey banks, 
and sometimes by a thick growth of coarse, wild grass, which clam- 
bered over the sides of the gulch, and tried to steal its way, through 
fence corners and along road-sides, into the cultivated fields 
beyond. The stream was almost dry, for the drought of the late 
summer was not yet broken, and only a narrow, thin ribbon of 
water slipped along over its clayey bed. A railroad track divided 
the plain and threw a bridge across the stream just where its ugly, 
staring banks were thickest covered with the rankly growing grass. 
The long season of heat and drought had made grass, and bridge- 
timbers, and railroad ties, and the rails of the fence near by as 
dry as so much tinder. Two children came along the road and 
slid down the bank to the bed of the stream. They had an elabo- 
rately constructed play-house under the bridge, and they began at 
once to change its arrangement and set it to rights. It was made 
of two old boxes, some pieces of plank, and half a dozen bricks, 
and was furnished with some bits of broken dishes, a little square 
of old carpet, and two bottles. They decided that their house 
needed a bed, and with that affluence of imagination which enables 
country children to make, out of the things that grow around them, 
any and every article of comfort, or luxury, or use, or amusement 
of which they have ever heard, they set to work to build a bed- 
room and give it its proper furnishings. A line marked deep into 
the crumbling earth with a sharp stick formed the walls of the new 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


I 99 


addition to their mansion, and for the bed they plucked armfuls 
of the coarse yellow grass and piled it carefully in one corner of 
the enclosure, beside one of the bridge supports. Then the boy 
suddenly remembered something, and, standing up very straight, 
announced with an air of importance : — 

“ Say, Sis, I got something ! ” 

“ What is it, Budd ? ” 

“ Guess.” 

“ I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can. Try.” 

“You know I can’t never guess anything. Now tell me. I 
won’t let you play with my hew doll if you don’t.” 

“ I don’t want to. Guess just once. You shan’t have my 
wagon any more if you don’t.” 

“ Candy ! ” 

“ No, ’taint.” 

“ Now tell me. You said you would.” 

“No, I didn’t. I just said, for you to guess. I s’pose I’ll 
have to, though, ’cause you’d never guess it.” 

“ What is it, Budd ? Will you gim me some ?” 

“ Matches ! ” 

“ Oh, Budd! Where’d you get ’em ? How many you got ?” 

“Two. I got ’em in the kitchen, an’ we’ll make a sure nuff 
fire in the stove, an’ I got some dough that mother gim me this 
morning, an’ we’ll bake it on the stove an’ have some dinner.” 

“ But, Budd ! We might set somethin’ afire 1” . 

“You’re a goose. D’you think it ’ud burn through the stove, 
and us a-watchin’ ? We’ll put it out when we go back.” 

So they got some dry grass and some splinters of wood and 
built a fire in “ the stove,” which was made out of two brinks and 
a broken stove lid. But hardly had they got their “dinner” well 
under way when they heard a girl’s voice calling them from the 
edge of the orchard, which extended almost to the stream. 


2 00 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


“ There’s Mandy calling us ! Why could n’t she let us alone 
till we got our dinner ready ! Say, Budd, you better climb up 
there and tell her we’re a cornin’, or she’ll come down here and 
see our fire. Hurry, an’ I’ll put it out.” 

She raked out the ashes and embers, and pounded them with a 
board, and trod them into the dusty earth, and then hurried up the 
bank and back to the house, which stood behind the orchard, not 
far from the track. 

A little breeze came along soon and tossed the loose, dry 
grass of their “ bed ” and blew some stray straws across the ground. 
One of them fell upon the ashes and embers she had tramped 
into the earth. She thought she had killed all the fire there was 
in them, but one tiny spark still lived, though in a few minutes 
more that would have been dead, too. But the breeze fanned it 
into a momentary glow, and the single stalk of dry grass across it 
caught the fire. Slowly the spark ate its way down the stem to the 
little bed, and then the breeze fanned it again, and in five minutes 
the bundle of grass was a riotous mass of little flames. They 
darted upward, and curved around the wooden pillar of the bridge, 
and clung to its face, and made their way to the ties and cross- 
beams, holding fast and twisting and twining their crawling tongues 
and hands of flame, like the caresses of a wicked woman, and 
leaving behind them the weakened and blackened timbers, which 
still kept their form and seemed to do their duty, though ready to 
crumble under the least added weight. Then the fire left the 
bridge and swept to one side across the dry grass to the fence 
which surrounded a field of stubble. There was not enough food 
for flame to carry it into the field, and so it smouldered down the 
line of rail fence, and half an hour later one coming down the 
railroad&track would not have noticed anything wrong with the 
bridge until directly upon it. 

A train came rushing down the track, its long, heavy banner 
of smoke lying low in the hazy sunshine. It was behind time, and 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


201 


the engineer, knowing thoroughly these miles and miles of level 
track, had loosened the reins upon his iron steed, and they were 
flying past farm-houses, and fields, and orchards with a speed that 
made the nervous passengers tremble and look anxious and the 
daring ones grow elated and full of high spirits. But to two men on 
the train it seemed to creep with unendurable slowness, and the 
telegraph poles which whizzed past the windows seemed minutes 
apart. One of them, hurried on by a love which had permeated 
to the very depths of his soul, impatiently counted and chafed 
at the minutes which separated him from the woman of his heart. 
The other carried in his pocket a telegram which read : — 

“ Do not delay a moment. Her child is dead and she is on the verge of 
insanity All depends or his early arrival.” 

He had not shown this telegram, or said anything about it, 
to his companion. In reply to Collquitt’s eager questions Hefty 
had told him over and over again just how Frances looked and 
everything she said and did, and how the child looked and all 
about its cunning ways. Hefty grew tired of that kind of conver- 
sation at last, and, partly in the hope of distracting Collquitt’s 
attention, branched off into a monologue about an adventure he 
had had on the Southern Pacific road. 

“ You must have read about it, Collquitt, and you’ll remember 
it, I know, as soon as I tell you about the circumstances. If I 
remember rightly, it was not very far from Deming, and the train 
was creeping along so slow that you could take naps between the 
telegraph poles and count every one. At last it stopped altogether, 
and everybody began to stir around, and look out, and say, ‘ What’s 
up now ? ’ I got out and walked up the track toward the engine, 
and there I found two masked men with the drop on the express 
messenger, making him shell out, and another with his gun to the 
engineer’s head. I stepped along so quietly that they did n’t hear 
me at all, and I quietly veered around until I got both of ’em in 


202 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


range, and then I let drive my six-shooter, one barrel after another, 
just as fast as I could. Would you believe it ? Queerest thing in 
shooting I ever heard of, but the very first bullet went clean 
through the head of one man and thumped the other one in the 
temple so hard that it knocked the senses out of him and they 
both keeled over. The other desperado heard all the shooting 
coming from one direction without any reply shots and sabied at 
once that it was all up with his friends. So he gave one shot at 
the engineer and turned and ran. The engineer drew on him and 
hit him in the back. It all turned out just as I had planned. I 
knew I’d do up the two of them at one shot and I wasted the rest 
of the ammunition just to scare the other fellow. Remember read- 1 
ing about it? No? That’s queer, for it was in all the papers. 
But you probably would n’t have noticed it particularly because my 
name was n’t mentioned in the account, which simply said it was 
done by a newspaper man. Well, that newspaper man’s name was 
Billy Hefty, and I’m the Billy Hefty that did it.” 

“Two hours more,” said Collquitt, looking at his watch and 
hardly noticing his friend’s story, of which, indeed, he had heard 
scarcely a word. “ Shall we ever get there ? ” 

Hefty looked sober and thought, “I hope to heaven when we 
do so we’ll be in time,” but he said nothing. Presently he took out 
a fresh cigar, saying : — 

“ I’m going out on the platform to smoke and get some fresh 
air,” and started down the aisle. 

For one brief second a dizzy, thrilling sense of something 
wrong, then a blinding crash, and then chaos, and moans and 
cries of pain and terror. The bridge had given way and the engine 
and half the train had gone through, the cars telescoping, and now 
lying piled in the bed of the little stream, a mass of splinters, and 
flesh, and blood, and bone, and twisted iron, and shattered glass. 
One car hung toppling upon the bank, ready to roll over at the 
slightest touch, and two others, jerked half off the track, stood 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


203 

behind it, the people pouring out of them with frightened faces and 
trembling limbs. 

You remember the accident : How scores of people were 
pinned helpless under the mass of ruins, and how aid was so long 
in coming that many died before they could be taken out ; how 
the wreck caught fire from the engine and there was no water to 
put out the flames; how the passengers dipped the little stream 
dry with their hats and carried earth in their hands to throw upon 
the burning pile ; how people were roasted alive, and how brave 
men worked like gods to extricate the sufferers, refusing to be 
driven away by the fire until their clothing hung in crisps, their 
eyebrows and hair were singed, and their faces and hands blistered ; 
and how the cause of the accident was a mystery which no one 
was able to solve. 

In a few minutes Hefty extricated himself and found that he 
was uninjured, except by the shock, a few bruises, and a cut on 
one side of his face. He had been standing in just that part of 
the car which had not gone quite into the one in front, and which had 
not been quite penetrated by the one behind. He called Collquitt 
and heard a faint voice reply. Looking eagerly about, he soon 
found his friend pinned under some heavy mass which had fallen 
partly upon one leg. Hefty saw with a shiver that if he had not 
left his seat just when he did he would probably now be lying there 
with his chest crushed under its heaviest part. He thought of that 
telegram in his pocket and his heart sank. 

A farmer at work in the orchard near by had seen the 
accident, and without losing a moment of time had galloped 
fiercely to the next town, only two miles beyond, and people 
on foot, on horseback, in carriages and wagons were soon 
pouring upon the scene. Collquitt was one of the first to be 
taken out. 

“ Is it bad ? ” asked Hefty. 

“ I think the leg is broken, that is all. Never mind me, do 


204 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


what you can here, and if you’ll put me alongside perhaps I can 
help some, too.” 

But Hefty’s quick mind had already formed a plan of action. 
He turned an agonized face away from the heart-rending scene in 
front of him and hesitated one instant as the shrieks, and cries, and 
moans of pain pierced his ears, and then, with tears rolling down 
his face, he said : — 

“ Harris, I think I can get you to Florville to-night, and I’m 
going to do it if I can, for there’s grave reason why you should be 
there just as soon as possible. It tears my heart out to go away 
from here, but my friends first, say I, and so I’m going to get you 
down to this next town in double quick time.” 

Collquitt was put into a light wagon and by one o’clock was 
lying on an improvised bed on the floor of the station house, while 
Hefty despatched a telegram to one of the officials of the road in 
Chicago, a man who, he knew, would remember both him and his 
newspaper connection. Even now, he could not repress his 
inevitable double shuffle, a gay smile and a wink, as he handed in 
the telegram with the remark, “ Collect at the other end, if you 
please.” 

This is the message the official read a half hour later : — 

“ Frightful accident on your road. Self and another newspaper man in 
it. He’s badly hurt, but it is a matter of life and death for him to be in Florville 
to-night. If you will order special train to take us there he’ll say nothing about 
damages and neither of us will write anything about the accident. But there’s 
damned carelessness at the bottom of it, and if you don’t send the train, Billy 
Hefty’s the man that will ventilate the whole thing and give your old road 
such a blast from hell as it won’t get over for many a fine day.” 

Hefty took a turn or two around the room and then he 
muttered : — 

“ It’s got to be done, old man, so brace up and get through 
with it.” 

Then he went up to Collquitt and said : — 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


205 


“ Well, old fellow, how goes it ? ” 

“ It’s painful, of course, but I’m thinking most about those 
poor wretches down there. You said it was important for us to 
reach Florville to-night. What is the matter? Is there anything 
you have n't told me ? ” 

“ I had a telegram this morning.” 

“ She is n’t dead ? ” 

“ No, but the child is, and — well — here, read it yourself.” 

“ Oh, my God ! ” groaned Collquitt, and his hands fell help- 
lessly down upon the floor. 

“ Brace up, brace up, my boy. Don’t lose your grit. I think 
we’ll get there to-night.” He told what he had already done, and 
then went on : “I don’t know whether that train will come or not, 
but I think it will, and if it does, after we get aboard the people 
along the road will think a comet’s dropped down and is scooting 
along the track. But the thing to be considered right now is your 
leg. Do you want to have it examined and the necessary opera- 
tion performed on it, or do you want to wait until — afterward. 
There may be danger, I don’t know how much, in putting off the 
operation so long, and you yourself know best what the pain will 
be. On the other hand, it is barely possible that the operation 
would not be finished by the time the train gets here, if it comes, 
and that we would have to wait — ” 

Collquitt did not stop for the sentence to be finished. He 
made a nervous movement with one hand. 

“ After we get there,” was all he said. Then he closed his eyes 
and lay there with white, compressed lips and clenched hands, never 
speaking or moving. Hefty walked uneasily about, looked at his 
watch every five minutes, sent a telegram to Dr. Hawthort and 
received a reply, and at last took eagerly from the operator’s hand 
the anxiously expected message from the railroad official. It 
read : — 

“ Train has been ordered and will be there as soon as possible.” 


206 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


It was four o’clock when the special came puffing into the 
station. It consisted of an engine, a freight car heavily loaded to 
hold the train more steadily upon the track, and a sleeper. Coll- 
quitt was put into a berth and made as comfortable as possible, 
and then the train darted down the track again. The speed was 
terrific. Orchards, houses, fields, fences, men at work, whizzed 
passed the windows in an undistinguishable medley. Country 
towns swept past their vision and then vanished again, like magic 
blotches upon the landscape. The cars swayed, and bounced, and 
jolted, and jarred, and every motion made the body of the man 
stretched upon the berth tremble with pain. Now and then a 
worse jar than usual would draw the white lips a little closer, or 
send a spasm of agony across his face. But he opened his mouth 
during the entire trip only to ask occasionally, “ When will we get 
there ? ” or to demand, impatiently, “ How much farther, how 
much farther ? ” 

It was five o’clock when they drew into Florville. Dr. Haw- 
thort, pale and anxious, met them at the depot. 

“ She is just as she has been for twenty-four hours,” he said 
in reply to the question they looked but feared to ask, “ except 
that I am afraid she has been growing worse instead of better. She 
still holds the corpse in her arms and refuses to let any one touch 
it, declaring that she must put it to sleep. This is the' one chance 
for her reason, and I cannot conceal from you that she would 
soon be oblivious to everything but the dead child in her arms. 
I pray God you’re not too late.” 

A stretcher was in readiness and Collquitt was quickly carried 
to the house. They stopped with him a moment in the hall, and 
looking in he saw her sitting there, rocking to and fro, — she had 
not moved since she sat down the night before, — clasping the 
dead child close in her arms, cuddling it against her breast, her 
lips moving in a scarcely audible lullaby. They carried him into 
the room and placed the stretcher carefully upon some chairs 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


207 


near her. But she did not notice him, and did not appear to 
have seen or heard the unusual bustle. She was tenderly caress- 
ing the baby’s cheek with one hand and crooning the little song, 
“Dear little eyes.” Her father, Hefty, the physician, looked on 
in agonized suspense. 

“ Speak to her,” said the physician. 

Collquitt was looking at her with pale, yearning face, and 
pain-contracted eyes — though his agony was caused not by his 
own hurt, but by hers. He opened his lips to speak. But a mist 
swam before his eyes and his tongue fell helpless in his mouth. 
There was a dash of cold water upon his face, and with a mighty 
effort he gathered himself together, raised himself upon one 
elbow and cried aloud : — 

“ Frances, Frances, at last I have found you ! ” 

She turned toward him a startled face over which there 
passed a sudden, glorifying flash of love and intelligence, and 
sprang to her feet with a cry. 

In another second the little corpse was in her father’s hands 
and she was kneeling upon the floor with her head upon her 
lover’s breast. 


208 


FRANCES *. A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Boston newsboys were darting about with their arms full of 
“extras” and loudly calling, “All ’bout de failure.” They had 
not grasped just the financial situation indicated by the headlines 
in the papers, but the word they used was vastly more applicable 
to the case than they knew, or their patrons comprehended. 

It was not simply the failure of a sum of money to accomplish 
what its user had intended. It was the ignoble collapse of a human 
being who had failed to accomplish any one of the things for the 
doing of which nature had given him splendid endowments. It 
was the utter failure of a man. 

There was an undercurrent of excitement in State Street and 
the places frequented by men of finance. To the rumors already 
current in the newspapers others were added. It was known, 
however, that the stockholders of the Electric Street Lighting 
Company had met and demanded the resignation of their treasurer, 
John B. Malquam, and it was generally believed that he would not 
be able to account for more than half its funds. Some said that 
he had bribed city governments to give him the necessary fran- 
chises, and on his books had represented these as having been 
bought for large sums. Others declared he had falsified the 
amounts paid for plant and labor. But it was said that there was 
to be a thorough investigation by the directors of the company, 
the result of which, most people believed, would result in young 
Malquam’s lasting disgrace. 

His connection with this company was the only one in which 
the newspapers had discovered irregularity. But as the news 
flew about on State Street and its immediate neighborhood other 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 209 

rumcrs went from office to office, passed from one to another on 
’change, on the street, and at restaurants. Through these it grad- 
ually became known that at least half a dozen companies in which 
he was interested had become uneasy, and were moving to inves- 
tigate his actions. As the afternoon wore on it began to be gen- 
erally believed that his shortages, all told, would run well up into 
the hundred thousands. The earlier editions of the papers had 
various reports concerning his movements. One said it was feared 
he had committed suicide, as his office had been closed all day 
and at the Parker House nothing was known of his whereabouts. 
Another, disposed to be friendly, declared he had gone to New 
York on business and would return in a day or two. Still another 
hazarded the belief that he had gone to Canada. 

Meantime, the cause of all this excitement was speeding 
towards Boston on the Albany train. He had gone to New York 
three days previously, had spent the last two in Albany trans- 
acting business, and now reached Boston just in time to see the 
gathering over his head of this cloud of suspicion. He read the 
afternoon papers as he rode up from the depot and recognized 
that his career was at an end. 

“I’m just in time,” he said to himself as he hurried up the 
stairs to his office. “ A day later and the music would have been 
sounding in earnest. When this company opens up all the rest 
will fallow suit. But to-morrow morning I can snap my fingers at 
them.” 

He entered his office and locked the door behind him. He 
wished no interruptions in what he was about to do. Taking his 
mail from the letter box, he passed on to his private office, and 
shut and locked that door, also. As he walked across the room 
his step was no longer the firm, decided tread it had once been. 
There was in it a trifle of uncertainty, and he had unconsciously 
widened the space between his feet as he walked, as if to enlarge 
his base and lessen the danger of falling. 


14 


2 IO 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


He glanced over his letters and laid the newspapers on his 
desk. There were several of these, the one on the top of the little 
pile being a New York paper of that morning. Something in one 
of the letters irritated him, and he gave the papers an angry push. 
The New York paper fell off the little pile and slid down in front 
of him. He picked it up and his eyes rested upon the heading of 
a short article half way down a column on the first page, and he 
read, “ Maxie Sarto off for Europe.” The letter fell from his 
hands, and in open-eyed amazement he sank back in his chair, too 
astounded to read the account. 

Only two days before she had promised to meet him in Montreal 
within the week ! She had protested her unceasing love for him, 
had declared she was willing and ready to throw up her position, 
to leave the stage altogether and go with him, had said over and 
over again that she could not live without him ! And that was 
only two days ago ! Why, yes, it was only the day before she 
left ! She must have been ready to start, and glad to get him out 
of the way, when she kissed him good-bye! No! It could not 
be true ! It must be a mistake ! 

He read the article carefully, and then went over it again. It 
described her costume, even to the jaunty little felt hat that she 
wore and the flowers at her belt , it detailed her conversation with 
the reporter as she stood on the wharf, told how she gracefully 
tripped down the gang-plank, and how, as the steamer moved 
away, she stood on deck and daintily blew a kiss from her finger 
tips to a collection of deeply affected dudes who sorrowfully 
watched her departure, and it ended with a dark reference to a 
Brazilian coffee merchant with an unlimited exchequer who was 
also a passenger. 

Malquam jumped to his feet with an angry oath. He would 
not be made game of in this way ! He would follow them ! He 
would settle matters with this Brazilian ! She was his and he 
would not have her stolen from him ! He thought with a grim 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 1 1 


smile of the contents of his safe and keenly regretted that he had 
been so moderate. He might just as well have had more ! He 
would spend it all, if necessary, in finding this woman and making 
her his own again ! 

He rushed to his safe and opened it. He knew what its con- 
tents were, for he had counted them just before he left the city, — 
gold, and greenbacks, and bills of exchange, and certificates of 
deposit, — four hundred and sixty thousand dollars. With 
trembling hands he opened the secret drawers, he examined every 
corner, he searched every pigeon-hole. Every one was empty. It 
was all gone. Over and over he searched, but not a shred of his 
wealth was left. 

“ Let’s leave him a little, let’s not be too hard on him,” the 
night-watchman had said. 

And the man who wished to sell his knowledge about Coll- 
quitt had replied, “Not a cent. I’ve got the best of him at last 
and I don’t give him another chance to brow beat me.” 

“ Nary a cent,” the trembling office-boy had echoed, forgetting 
his fear and his guilt in the exultation of the thought that he was 
getting even with his employer for that mortgage on his soul which 
had been held over him so long. 

Malquam mechanically closed his safe and sat down again 
beside his desk. He was too stunned even to feel curiosity as to 
how his loss had come about. He looked vacantly about him, his 
face pale, his eyes staring. Then he picked up a letter from the 
desk and fingered it listlessly. For some moments he sat there, 
dazed, unable to think. 

Presently he remembered the disaster threatening his finan- 
cial reputation and the investigation that had been ordered. Hesi- 
tating barely an instant, he left the office and got into a cab at the 
foot of the stairs. All around him he heard the newsboys crying, 
“ All ’bout de failure ! ” He put up the cab windows to keep out 
the sound of their voices. But the shrill, childish trebles still 


212 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


made their way in and hammered at his ears. It irritated him and 
made him nervous. “ All ’bout de failure ! ” Did the little whelps 
imagine there was nothing in the papers but that ? The cab was 
clattering over the cobble-stones and the noises of the late after- 
noon filled the streets, but over and above it all came the din of 
those voices, drowning everything else, filling the hack, thundering 
in his ears, and twisting at every tortured nerve in his body. 
“ All ’bout de failure ! ” It was a failure indeed ! 

Then he began to think about the threatened investigation, 
and in his nervous, excited condition he could not quite distin- 
guish between the actual and the impending. He seemed to be 
already a fugitive, trying to escape the awards of justice. He 
cowered into the corner of the cab and pulled down his hat. 
Didn’t that policeman beckon to the driver? Had he been 
recognized ? Was he about to be arrested ? No, the cab did not 
stop and he breathed more freely. How the people all peered 
through the windows and stared at him. They seemed to point 
him out to one another. And there was one of the directors 
of the electric company ! He reached up a shaking hand 
and pulled down the curtains. He was safe now from in- 
quisitive eyes, but as he sat there, shrinking and trembling in 
the darkness, each momentary lessening of speed made him 
shudder with fear. 

At last they reached the Dighton, and he darted up the stairs 
and let himself into Eva Collquitt’s suite. No one was there, for 
Eva had not yet returned and during her absence the servant had 
gone to visit relatives. He stood in the middle of the parlor and 
took a revolver from his pocket. He intended to kill himself. 

But his instinctive love of life stayed his hand. He walked 
about the room, unconsciously trying to put off the dreadful 
moment. No fear of arrest disturbed him here. He felt secure. 
But it was harder than he had thought. Still, it was all there was 
left. His reputation was ruined, his money was gone, Maxie 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2I 3 


Sarto had deserted him. He preferred death ten thousand times 
to the inevitable disgrace that awaited him. With these thoughts 
he tried to strengthen his decision and gain the necessary courage. 
But he was afraid. At last he stopped in his slow, aimless tramp, 
steadied himself with one hand against a chair and tried to lift 
the other that he might point the revolver it grasped at his 
head. 

A panic of ungovernable terror took possess ion of him. He 
tried to raise the weapon, but he could not lift his hand. All the 
blood in his body seemed to stop and turn to solid ice. He 
clutched the chair with one hand and stood there shivering with 
fear. It had taken such complete possession of him that he could 
not move hand nor foot. Suddenly the room seemed to be full 
of ten thousand horrible, invisible shapes, ready to take form, to 
rush out from thin air and seize him. He feared even to turn his 
head lest he might see one pouncing down upon him from mid-air, 
with a long line of half-formed shapes in its train. He shrank 
down behind the chair, shivering and cowering, overcome by the 
horror o f these unseen presences. He crouched there with 
staring eyes and open mouth, trembling like a leaf and clutching 
the chair for support. 

At last his uncontrollable terror wore itself out by its own 
violence, and he got up, his heart beating so violently that it 
pained him, and his knees trembling. He drew his hand impa- 
tiently over his eyes. 

“Pshaw! How foolish! If I’d ever been a heavy drinker 
I’d think it was the jim-jams. It is getting dark in here, that 
is it. I’ll light up.” 

He closed the blinds and lighted all the gas jets. That 
made it seem better. He thought it would not be possible now 
for. that undefinable horror to take possession of him. He picked 
up the revolver again and adjusted it in his hand. But another 
fear, and a worse one, took possession of him. It was the fear of 


214 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


death. To pass from that brilliantly-lighted room, from the actual 
which he could know, and see, and understand, into the darkness 
and mystery of the unknown — he could not. The hand which 
held the weapon stopped midway to his head and held itself 
rigidly there. It was not the future he feared. His materialistic 
belief did not desert him in this crisis. Even in the midst of his 
fear he still felt that annihilation would be better than this 
desertion and disgrace. It was simply the thought of leaving life, 
of severing himself from existence, and it filled him with a painful 
terror, by the side of which the fears that had just left him were 
nothing. Every muscle in his body and every cell in every muscle 
clung to life as a child clings to the mother from whom it is being 
torn. Cold sweat burst out all over him and he gasped for breath. 
He threw his trembling arms around the chair and clung to it with 
despairing energy, as if it were the only thing that could hold him 
to life. There he crouched and clung, suffering indescribable 
tortures, until his resolution began to waver. Then he grew 
calmer, and soon he got up and sat in the chair. He was able to 
reason with himself then, and he caught up his fading purpose, 
saying to himself that to think of giving it up was greater madness 
than the other. But he would have to find some other way. He 
had heard that asphyxiation was easy, that one quietly went to 
sleep and never woke up. He would try it. 

So he opened the bed-room adjoining the parlor, turned out 
the lights, and then turned on all the gas jets in both rooms. Then 
he lay down upon the bed, nerving himself to the ordeal and think- 
ing that now he had reached the end. But it was worse than 
before. He had lain there scarcely a dozen seconds when he was 
seized with an overpowering sense of loneliness. It was so pitiful 
to die like that, without one human being to know of it ! If only 
there were some one within the sound of his voice, if he could 
only grasp somebody’s hand or even with his little finger touch 
some one’s garment, it would be supportable ! The feeling of 


FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 215 

* 

isolation, of utter aloneness, was the most horrible sensation he 
had ever experienced. The last man upon this earth, who looks 
about him and knows that in all the vast expanse of its plains and 
mountains, its islands and continents, on all the far reach of its 
waters, he is the only living thing, will not feel more utterly 
separated from his kind, more entirely cut off from life and the 
things of life, than did Malquam as he lay there gasping upon the 
bed and clutching the coverlet to keep himself from springing up. 
As the air grew heavier with the sweet, sickening odor, the awful 
silence, the unbearable isolation and loneliness pressed like a great 
weight upon his brain and his chest, until at last he could endure 
it no longer. He jumped from the. bed and rushed to the door, 
his only thought being to get out into the street and among men. 
But with his hand upon the door he paused. He could not go out 
there. He was a fugitive. Recognition, arrest, disgrace, awaited 
him. Would the jail, the public courts, the penitentiary, life-long 
infamy, be any better than death ? He groaned and turned back 
into the room. If he could only die l 

He opened the windows and cleared the atmosphere, and 
then lighted the gas again. Once more he would try the pistol.. 
He cocked it as it lay on the table before taking it into his hand.. 
Perhaps that would make it easier. 

Again he took it in his hand, and again the nameless horrors 
swarmed around him and the air seemed full of thousands of 
gibing, mocking devils, surrounding him, stretching out their 
claws, all ready to take tangible, visible form and substance, 
and dance about him in horrible, grinning, ghastly mirth the 
moment the weapon were placed at his head. He groaned 
and leaned upon the table, still holding the cocked revolver 
in his hand. 

“ Oh, my God ! ” he whispered, “ why can’t I drop dead ? ” 
These invisible horrors so possessed him that he did not 
hear the door open and a hurried step pass through the hall. It 


216 FRANCES: A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 

was only with the opening of the parlor door that he started and 
turned, his heated mind flashing up with the idea that one of 
these horrible devils had taken shape and was advancing upon 
him with gaping, grinning mouth and outstretched claws. He 
jumped back with an inarticulate cry, the revolver fell from his 
nerveless fingers and struck upon the table. There was a flash 
and a report, and, without realizing that it was only Eva Coll- 
quittwho had come in, he fell heavily upon the floor, the blood 
gushing out upon the carpet. 

Eva stopped short with the glad cry of “Jack!” frozen 
upon her lips. She stood perfectly still, hardly breathing, 
for some minutes, staring at the bleeding body upon the 
floor. Then she rushed to him and pillowed his head upon 
her lap. 

“Oh, Jack, Jack!” she moaned, as she caressed his face 
with infinite tenderness, “why did you do this? Was it to get 
away from me ? Oh, Jack, I have loved you so! Did you ever 
know, my darling, how much, how much, I loved you ? For your 
sake, sweetheart, I’ve given heaven for hell. I’ve sold my soul 
for your love. Why did n’t you live long enough to take me in 
your arms once more and tell me that I am dear, dear to you ! 
Oh, Jack, I have been so wretched — comfort me once more with 
your love ! Give me one last caress and say that you love me 
moro than any one else and I’ll not regret even — even that. 
Love, love, kiss me once more, press your loving lips to mine, 
and make me forget everything else. You cannot hear me. It is 
too late. Everything has been too late with me. I have put a 
curse on myself by my own wickedness. But it is not too late to 
die. I will go with you, Jack, my darling, my one dear, dear love. 
There’s nothing else for me now.” 

She kissed his lips, and, rising, picked up the revolver. But 
in her half-crazed brain her caress had brought back a sudden 
memory, and tossing her arms upward, she gave a low, sweet laugh. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2I 7 


Then sitting down on the floor near him she kissed him a second 
time and began to sing : — 

For lips were made for lovers, 

None others e’er should kiss; 

And if you’re not a lover, 

The best of life you miss. 

The song penetrated the ears of the dying man and stirred 
within him memories that strengthened for a moment the feeble 
pulsations of his heart. He thought it was Maxie Sarto returned 
and singing to him again the song she had so often sung. One 
arm moved feebly in her direction, and over his body there passed 
an undulating motion, as if he were trying to writhe himself toward 
her. She saw it and thought he wished with his dying breath to 
clasp her again in his arms. She lay down beside him, with her 
head upon his breast and the revolver at her temple. 

And so she died, believing that his last love was for her, and 
his breath passed away in the thought that it was Maxie whom his 
dying arms enclosed. 


2 l8 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

On that peninsula which extends a finger from the north 
down to the Golden Gate of San Francisco bay there is an irregular 
line of ambitious hills, a spur of the Coast Range of mountains, 
called the Bolinas Range. Through the months of spring and 
early summer, one might hunt the world over for a more charming 
spot than this, and then return contented. A bluer sky, a balmier 
air, more fragrant with the odor of verdure and of flowering trees 
and shrubs, a lovelier or more varied flora, more interesting or 
more trusting feathered and furred inhabitants of wood, and valley, 
and mountain, one could not find than among these enchanted 
hills. Every breath is invigorating and the scene itself is an 
elixir. 

Not far north on this peninsula, enclosed by the sweeping 
lines of the hills and watched over by solemn Tamalpais, there is 
a little cup-shaped valley. The blue sky broods over it, and even 
the winter clouds hang low and loving over its curved expanse. It 
knows neither nipping frost nor fettering ice and snow, but when 
the pattering feet of the winter rains scud over its brown surface 
and up the sides of the embracing hills it springs at once into 
verdure of intensest green. And in the early spring, with his 
warmest kisses, the sun wakens into life upon its bosom the 
earliest wild poppies, and purple iris, and scarlet plumes of 
the Indian weed. And on the hot days of summer the trade 
winds creep between the hills and fan its face with their cool 
breath. 

Almost in the centre of this little valley stands a dark-red 
farmhouse. Round about it wide-spreading live oaks stand guard 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2I 9 


in their gnarled, defiant strength. On every side stretches away 
the orange fire of wild poppies which carpet the ground with their 
masses of bloom. 

Five years after the events narrated in the preceding chapters a 
train was speeding over the railroad track that bisects the valley 
on its way to the city from the mountains and the redwood forests 
that lie farther north. One of the passengers, a blond, well- 
preserved, rather stout gentleman of middle age, was talking to 
the gentleman with whom he shared his seat. 

“ I’ll show you the ranch when we reach it. We’ll soon be 
there. I’ve just been spending three months with them. Most 
sensational story about him you ever heard of. 'You must have 
read it, for it was in all the papers. He was sand-bagged and 
carried fifty miles away, into the Catskili mountains, and when he 
came to he left his senses behind him, so that he did n’t know 
who he was or whert, he came from, or what his name was. 
Stayed up there three years in that condition, working as a farm 
hand, though he’d been the managing editor of the Boston Mirror 
for years. Well, his friends just moved heaven and earth in 
their efforts to find him. They engaged Pinkerton’s whole force, 
and a big army of detectives just scoured New York State from 
end to end, and they could n’t find a trace of him. Well, after 
that sort of thing had been going on without any let up for three 
years, a friend of his, a newspaper man, said to himself, ‘ These 
professionals are not going at it right. Think I’ll go over and 
take a whack at it myself.’ So he went and just meandered 
around in a quiet way, pretending he was there for the purpose of 
hunting, and not saying anything about his real errand. Sure 
enough, he had n’t been up there but a week until he found the 
lost man. Remember reading about it in the papers ? No ? 
That’s queer, for they were full of it. But I believe the name of 
the newspaper man who found him was n't mentioned. It was 
Billy Hefty, and I’m the Billy Hefty that did it. But there’s the 


220 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


house, over to your right, and there they are on the porch waving 
at me.” 

Up went the window and Hefty’s handkerchief fluttered in 
the air, and called forth repeated and more vigorous waving from 
the two people who stood on the porch of the dark-red house, 
half a mile distant. 

Collquitt looked as eager, as smiling, and as happy as if he had 
never passed through those months of despair and hours of agony 
which preceded the founding of their happy home in this lovely 
nook. 

Frances had lost much of that child-like naivete which 
formerly characterized her appearance and manners. But in its 
place had come a look of self-reliance, of calm dignity, and of 
unobtrusive self-knowledge. A little child was gathering poppies 
at their feet, and another lay asleep in its crib just within the open 
window. She looked about her, gave a thought to her father, 
busy and happy with his teacher’s duties in San Rafael, a few 
miles distant, and then, with a last wave of her handkerchief at 
the disappearing train, rested one hand upon Collquitt’s shoulder 
and turned to him with eyes full of tears. 

“ I was thinking of all we owe to that good friend,” she said, 
smiling, as he kissed her. 

“We owe him everything,” he replied, “everything we have 
that is worth having.” 

They were silent a moment, hand clasped in hand. Her 
heart swelled with the thought of all the happiness that had been 
theirs here in this quiet spot, and her mind passed quickly on to 
question the future. She drew closer to him and opened her lips 
with the question that has tortured loving woman from the time 
when the first one loved and, not satisfied with possessing the 
present, eagerly wished to grasp the future also for her happiness. 

“ Shall we always love each other so much ? ” 

He put his arm about her and kissed her tenderly. 


FRANCES : A STORY FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 


2 2 1 


“ I do not know, clear. We love each other now and that is 
enough. We will not lose the happiness of the present by being 
anxious about the future. As long as love lives of his own free 
will we -will enjoy him and be as happy as we are now. But if 
he should ever wish to leave us we would not try to force him to 
stay, for love compelled is not worth having.” 


THE END. 


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